


Interlude: The (Love) Song of Lawrence Nailo

by ArtemisMoonsong



Series: The (Really and Truly Inspiring) Story of Casien Yedlin [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, and oh yes, moot shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 180,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisMoonsong/pseuds/ArtemisMoonsong
Summary: 25-year-old Laurie has left his village in High Rock for the first time in his life. His goal? To enroll at the prestigious Bard's College in Solitude, Skyrim.But life doesn't always go according to plan. And hecertainlydidn't plan to disappoint his beloved mothers, find himself lost and alone in a foreign city... or discover himself falling in love with someone he has no business falling in love with.
Relationships: Falk Firebeard/Original Male Character(s), Ulfric Stormcloak/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The (Really and Truly Inspiring) Story of Casien Yedlin [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1152035
Comments: 344
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically the fourth book in the story of Caisen Yedlin, the young Dunmer who married Ulfric Stormcloak, found his family, and made more than a few friends along the way. You absolutely do not have to have read the previous three books! (But it will certainly add flavor and meaning to Laurie's story if you do!)
> 
> A few things to know about this AU:  
> \--The civil war was a little over five years ago. Ulfric Stormcloak is now High King of Skyrim.  
> \--Falk Firebeard was chosen to replace Elisif at the moot; he now serves as Jarl of Haafingar Hold.  
> \--Olfina Gray-Mane is jarl of Whiterun Hold; she is now married to Jon Battle-Born.  
> \--King Alain Delacourt is the king of Farrun in High Rock. His husband is Prince Rininion, a Bosmer.  
> \--Queen Elora Charpentier is the queen of Jehanna in High Rock.

* * *

🥀🥀🥀

_Francesca sighed as she clutched the silk pillow to her bosom. To love him was to think of him, and to think of him was to… oh, it was wrong, improper, for he was not her fiancé, not the person her parents had selected for her. Yet she could not deny her own feelings, could not deny the rush of desire that flooded her body the moment they were alone together. And when he touched her—_

“Laurie, right?”

The sudden unexpected intrusion startled me, causing me to drop my pen. I resisted the urge to slam my notebook shut when I saw who it was that was standing in the doorway of the communal cabin.

I swallowed, and rather than give him an answer, simply nodded my head, _yes_.

He smiled, the expression bringing dimples to his handsome face.

“Just thought you should know. Ship’s docked.” He tossed me a wink before adding on his way back out. “Time to make all those dreams of yours come true, right?”

Jaime—that was his name, or at least the name he’d given me. I slipped a piece of parchment between the pages of my notebook to catch the wet ink before closing it and stuffing it into my pack. Pen, parchment, books, clothing, an old stuffed bear my mothers had insisted on me bringing—all of it shoved quickly back inside before I drew the drawstring and slung the pack over my shoulder. And lastly—

I climbed onto the bed, careful not to hit the top of my head on the top bunk, and reached for the space between the bed and the wall. It had been too large (and hence, expensive) to have it stored with the other passengers’ valuables, but I feared for a moment that I’d wedged it so far down and so tightly that I’d never pull it out again. Finally, my questing hand grasped the handle and pulled the large case free. I sat back on the bed, then, undoing the clasps and opening it.

My grandmother’s lute. I’m not sure why I felt the need to gaze at it, as if to ascertain that it was still there—still nestled within its velvety enclosure, pale wood still smooth to the touch. I ran the calloused tips of my fingers over the little black flowers carved into the wood of the rose, then made sure the strings weren’t wound too tightly, as if I hadn’t already done so a thousand times before. But I’d been anxious about my ability to ensure its safety on this journey—and now, if the gods were in mind to be kind, it was to become the sole source of my livelihood.

A little dramatic, maybe, but bards were supposed to have a penchant for the dramatic, weren’t they? I stood up, carefully slipping the strap of the case over my head and shoulder, so that it sat close beside my backpack, then finally made my way out of the communal cabin.

The narrow hallway was empty, save for a few other people hurrying out of their own cabins, chatting excitedly with one another. There wasn’t even a line at the valuables pick-up; I was given my key almost immediately, and retrieved my bag of 100 septims (plus a few more coins for day-to-day living) without incident.

I had to squint as I emerged into the bright afternoon sun; it hadn’t been this bright and clear after breakfast. It was warm, too; I had to push the sleeves of my tunic up and tug a little at the laces around my neck.

There was a crowd gathered before the exit, where sailors were busy setting up the gangplank. My fellow passengers all chattered excitedly amongst one another, their belongings in hand (or in the hands of their servants, in some cases). Some waved to the crowd gathered on shore. I looked for Jaime and saw him laughing with some of his friends, his blue eyes so clear and pretty in the bright sunshine. I ducked and quickly moved to the other side of the crowd so he wouldn’t see me.

The captain gave the all clear for us to depart. People shuffled excitedly, everyone anxious to be back on shore. I lingered towards the back; I didn’t care for large crowds, and there was less chance of anyone bumping against the lute and doing it some harm.

The walls of the great city arched over us as we made our way down the gangplank. _Solitude_. A strange name for a place with so many people; even here at the docks it was crowded, and if these were only the folk traveling to and from the city, the city itself must be immense—certainly bigger than the little village I’d grown up in, maybe even bigger than Farrun, though I’d only visited _that_ city a handful of times.

People gave me curious looks. They did so at home, too, though at least those in my village had grown used to me. No one knew me here, but that also seemed to mean they didn’t care, for as soon as they acknowledged my presence they forgot it. I couldn’t help noticing how tall many of them were, some as tall as I was, some _taller_. I’d seen Nords in Alverton, but only here and there; I had never been immersed in an entire city of them. They didn’t seem like the great warmongers they were reputed to be; not all of them even carried weapons. They didn’t appear any different than Bretons, really. Even the fashion was very similar to home.

There were mer, as well. Solitude was a port city, so I supposed it wasn’t surprising that there should be many different types of people living here. They, too, stared at me as I passed. I lowered my eyes as I always did and pretended not to notice. I had been called ‘half-breed’ on more than one occasion, and it was almost always from fellow mer. It was not a very nice term, or so my poor mothers had had to explain to me once when I was very young.

The walk from the docks to the city gates was long and steep. I was breathing rather heavily by the time I made it to the top. There had been lovely little places to stop and enjoy the day along the way, but I hadn’t any extra coin to spare on levity or refreshment.

The gates to the city were flung open, though there were guards on either side. But they didn’t seem to really care who passed through. Horses pulling carts, farmers carrying baskets, families with children, merchants, fisher folk, hunters with the fruits of their labor slung over their mounts—it was overwhelming. And the crowds didn’t die down once I was within the city proper; if anything, they grew larger and louder. Now there were people yelling across the street to one another over the sound of horses’ clopping hoofs, merchants calling out their wares, a young girl standing beside a stack of newspapers calling out the latest stories at the top of her lungs.

“SOLITUDE TO HOST A MOOT! JARL ULFRIC CALLS FOR A MOOT IN SOLITUDE! READ ALL ABOUT IT HERE! Care for a copy, Mister?”

I started when I realized she was addressing me. I was trying for some reason to recall what a ‘moot’ was, and beyond that, had taken temporary refuge away from the heat and the crowd to come and stand under the awning near her and her stack of papers.

“Cat got your tongue, Mister? FIRE IN DRAGON’S BRIDGE! SEVERAL BUSINESSES DESTROYED! READ ALL ABOUT IT HERE! Only three coppers, Mister. Thanks, Miss!”

That last was chirped at an elderly woman who’d come forward and offered the girl a few coins, receiving a folder paper in return. I studied the girl more closely; her tunic was too long, as if it had previously belonged to an older sibling, her leggings were torn in several places, and I saw one little toe peeping through the end of one shoe.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out three pennies.

“Thanks, Mister!” she said, beaming brightly at me before pocketing the pennies and handing me a paper.

I nodded and took the paper, holding it absently to my chest, where I felt a familiar press of anxiety. I had a destination in mind, after all, and no real idea where it might be. But the girl was already belting out her headlines again, so I swallowed my question with a faint shudder of relief and turned to lose myself in the midday crowd again.

I wandered until my feet became sore. I ran into people more than once, my eyes too busy admiring the tall buildings and impressively armored city guards to really pay attention to where I was going. I passed through several different neighborhoods—marketplaces, businesses, residential squares, places of worship. I left a penny at a small shrine to Julianos, then another for Kynareth, considering I had just arrived after a long journey. I felt it couldn’t hurt.

I wandered so far I began to notice the great houses I’d been passing start to fall away, giving way to pretty, carefully tended green spaces behind iron wrought fences. I went and leaned for a few minutes over the stone wall, gazing down at the harbor far below, an eastern breeze blowing the hair back from my face. A strange feeling of homesickness came over me, and the lute on my back felt abruptly heavy, my mothers’ confidence in me too swayed by maternal conviction. I was on a fool’s errand, and being lost in this great Nord city couldn’t have made that anymore obvious.

“You there!”

I whirled around, my heart skipping in my chest as I stared at the city guardsman who’d addressed me.

“This is private property,” he said, when I didn’t otherwise say anything in return. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“…Sorry,” I managed.

I swallowed, feeling my heart begin to beat even faster. But then his eyes seemed to travel past my shoulder a bit, presumably to the belongings I had strapped to my back.

“New in town?” he asked.

I nodded, relief washing over me, for some of his hostility seemed to have faded.

His eyes slipped past me again, and this time he nodded—towards the lute case, which he apparently recognized.

“Looking for the bard’s college?”

“Yes!” I said, excitement overcoming my initial anxiety.

“You’ll want to go back that way,” he said, pointing back towards town. “Stay close to the western wall here, and you can’t miss it. Pretty little courtyard, probably a few of your kind hanging about, strumming their instruments and what not.” He frowned. “You’ve wandered into palace property, you know. You should watch where you’re going.”

I blinked. The palace? But then I glanced up, as though noticing the large building in the distance threatening to loom over me. Was _that_ the Blue Palace? Seat of the jarl of Solitude?

A soft snort from the guard redrew my attention. He seemed to be regarding me with an almost fond expression.

“Go on,” he said, jerking his head back towards the southern road. “Get out of here. Unless you plan on stealing something, then I’ll need to lock you up.” He winked. “Don’t want that, do you?”

I shook my head anxiously, and, adjusting my backpack and lute, hurried away from the wall and past the chuckling guard.

I did my best to follow his instructions as I made my way back down the rather lovely cobblestoned road. Now that I’d been made a little more aware of my surroundings, I could tell that the area was a bit finer than the rest of the city—the buildings were tall and stately, with quite a bit of space between, greenery climbing up their sides, painting the dark stone with blossoms. I passed very few people; most seemed to be servants with frightfully looking busy expressions on their faces as they hurried from one task to another.

The guard was right: I heard the college before I saw it. The sound of music filtered through the sounds of songbirds mingling with upper class city life. I heard the steady, rhythmic beat of a drum, followed by distant laughter. Soon I saw the building in question: tall and dark and square, but somehow cheerful, for nearly every window seemed open to the sunshine, houseplants perched on the sill, music and voices trickling out into the soft spring air.

After pausing and catching my breath after my long walk (and trying to steady my heartbeat, and calm my nerves), I began to make my way up the stone steps. I kept as far from the courtyard as I could, hoping those who had gathered there wouldn’t notice me, but—unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

“Hello, there!” said one jovial-faced fellow. He was tall and blond—a Nord for certain, though he was also clean-shaven. “Here for the audition?”

“Word to the wise,” said another young man. “Professor Ateia’s in a bit of a mood.”

“She’s _always_ in a mood,” said a young woman with long brown hair. She was sitting on the low stone wall, some kind of wind instrument in her lap, though she was holding a half-eaten apple in one hand.

“You’re just saying that because she doesn’t like you!” said the Nord, and she grimaced while the other man laughed.

I pressed my lips together, gnawing absently on the bottom one. The audition! Was that today? My fingers gripped the handles of my backpack even as my heart plummeted down somewhere into the vicinity of stomach. The plan had been to arrive at least a day ahead of time. There hadn’t been any foul weather or any other sort of complication—how had our arrival been so off schedule?

“Cat got your tongue, newbie?” asked the Nord, and I couldn’t quite help the flush of irritation that crept over me—it had to be only the thousandth time someone had asked me that, and now twice today already.

“…No,” I managed, frowning. “Is the…” I paused, closed my eyes, and swallowed. “The audition. It’s… today?”

“Today, and tomorrow, and the next,” said the young woman. “In the afternoon. That _is_ why you’re here, is it?”

I nodded.

“Well, best go in then,” said the other young man.

I nodded again before turning to do so, making my way up a second, smaller set of stone steps, past the large, wooden double doors, and inside the building itself.

“Here for the audition?”

I blinked, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the comparatively dim interior lighting before finally focusing on the woman addressing me. She was carrying a clipboard and didn’t look unfriendly, though she wore a crisp, expectant look on her face.

I nodded, my hands gripping the handles of my backpack again.

“Name?” she asked, already glancing down at her clipboard.

“…Laurie,” I said, then immediately flushed. “Lawrence Nailo,” I amended.

She flipped through a few of the papers, finally pausing before one.

“Ah! All the way from High Rock! How adventurous!” She drew a line through something then looked up again and smiled, gesturing towards a nearby doorway.

“Just have a seat in there with the others. They’ll call you in when it’s your turn.”

A well-worn rug muffled the sound of my boots as I moved to do as she asked. The foyer I was in was a lighter gray than the stone that made up the exterior of the building. Paintings and tapestries covered portions of the wall—I wondered if the school trained artists as well as musicians, for they all seemed to be different styles. There were flowers everywhere, too, and shelves with books, and portraits of important looking people (old headmasters and headmistresses, perhaps), and pretty, ornate, little lamps as opposed to plain, old candles and braziers.

The room I was instructed to enter was better lit than the foyer, for it had two large windows adorning one wall, and more lamps dotted the small tables and wall sconces about the room. A row of wooden chairs was pushed up against one side of the room; about half of these were occupied, most of the occupants holding instruments in their laps.

I took the seat closest to the doorway, quietly sliding my backpack down before shifting to cradle the lute case in my own lap. The others didn’t seem to care about or even notice my arrival; some had their eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly, fingers tapping rhythmically against an elbow or knee. One young woman was checking and double-checking the strings on her mandolin. Another was flipping from one page of printed musical notes to another, her cheeks flushed, her eyes moving rapidly over the pages.

I swallowed and tried to take slow, steady breaths the way the healer had taught me. None of this was happening the way I’d planned it. I was supposed to take the day to rest, to practice, to prepare myself for my audition, the results of which, hopefully, were to be the culmination of everything I’d worked so hard for over the years. My mothers and I had scrimped and saved for years to raise the hundred septims. I supposed I could come back tomorrow, but how would that look, now that I was already here? I took another deep, steadying breath, feeling my heart finally start to settle in my chest. I could do this—I _would_ do this.

The sound of someone singing filtered in through the eaves of the closed door on the opposite end of the room. It was a woman, her voice sliding from one note to the other with effortless ease, as if she were a bird, or a goddess, or… I closed my eyes, sighing quietly, feeling myself begin to relax even further. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

The singing stopped abruptly. A male voice, clearing his throat first, spoke up from behind the door: _Again, please_. Then another woman chimed in, her voice brusque: _We’d like to see you hold that note a little longer, if you can, dear_.

The singing began again. That’s when I realized: this wasn’t the performance of one of the masters of her art. This was an _audition_. Cold horror began to wash over me, stealing away all the joy the woman’s singing had brought me only a few moments ago. Was _this_ the level of talent I was competing against? Comparatively speaking, I couldn’t play to such a level if I had been practicing for eight hours a day for the last ten hours of my life!

“Do you think she realizes she’s flat?” murmured a young man next to me.

I started, but he was looking at the woman next to him, who smirked back.

“Like you can do better?” she asked, raising one thin, blond eyebrow.

He snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Guess you’re about to find out.”

I stood up abruptly, hands now shaking as I clutched my lute to my chest. The others all glanced up at me in surprise, but I didn’t give them time to question me, or give my own face time to flush at how they were all staring at me. I could hear the singer on the other end of the door, still beautiful, still ethereal…

…I was walking back out of the room before I’d even made the conscious decision to do so. The woman who’d met me at the door gave me a questioning look, but I refused to look at her directly; I kept walking, pushing the outer door open and stepping back out into the bright afternoon sunlight.

The courtyard was blessedly empty, or at least it looked as though the three who’d been sitting there had moved further inward. By some miracle, I’d remembered to grab my backpack before leaving; I don’t think I would have had it in me to go back inside to retrieve it. I looped both backpack and lute back over my shoulders and took the stone steps back down, pivoting back towards the south entrance to the city, away from the palace and the stately houses and pretty gardens—and the place I’d once hung all my hopes and dreams for the future.

I kept walking. I had no destination in mind; my thoughts were a blur, my heart skipping against my ribcage, battering me from the inside-out until I began to feel a bit breathless. I forced myself to slow my pace, though the anxiety—the depression, the hopelessness, the shame—continued to press against my chest. The streets were still crowded, but I paid no attention to the folk I passed, and they me. _Get out of the city_ : this was the mantra which had begun to play in my mind over and over, until I felt I should not be able to breathe ever again if I didn’t quickly find myself outside Solitude’s walls again—and soon.

I had wandered a great deal when I’d first arrived here, uncertain of my final destination, overwhelmed by all that I saw. But now that I had purpose—if my desire to leave the city could be termed as such—time seemed to speed up around me. The sun was half-sunk behind the mountains by the time I once again found myself approaching the city gates, albeit from the opposite direction. The guards didn’t notice me; I might have been any number of people returning home after a day in the city.

My steps quickened once I passed through the gates. It felt like my humiliation was catching up with me, only there wasn’t anything I could really do about it. I still didn’t know where I was going.

I walked for some time, passing buildings and kiosks and stables. Eventually, I caught sight of a little path that veered off the main road. It disappeared into a copse of trees and bushes and seemed overgrown in places. I took it without thought.

It ended in a little clearing. An old, abandoned well dominated the center, its opening boarded up with half-rotted wood. Pretty stone benches surrounded it; beyond these were posts where one might tie one’s horse or donkey or cow.

I slowly sank down on one of the benches. After a moment, I dropped my backpack down on the ground; my lute, I lay beside me on the bench. Then I leaned forward, covered my face with my hands, and did something I hadn’t done since I was a child.

I wept.

//


	2. Chapter 2

When the tears finally stopped they left in their wake a feeling of despair so deep and so dark I couldn’t even move at first. I was still leaning forward, elbows resting on my thighs now, gazing down at the grass between my boots. I watched a rather large ant crawling its way through the dirt; it hit the toe of my boot and stopped abruptly before turning and continuing in another direction.

Slowly, I brought my hands up and wiped my eyes and nose. I wouldn’t be able to follow the ant’s little journey for much longer—the sun was going down, and soon enough it would be dark.

And I had nowhere to go.

The plan had been to use a little of my spending money to book a room for the night, of course. The following day I was to audition. If the college accepted me, I wouldn’t have to worry about where to lay my head down that night. If it didn’t… I’d told my mothers that I would come home, eventually, but that I would use some of the money to stay here a while and explore the city, for I had never left home before. They had both been so certain of my talents that they had brushed that possibility aside, insisting that I write to them from my new address at the college as soon as possible so that they could write to me. They had even spoken of renting out the farm for a few weeks and eventually coming to visit me.

Before the pain of my humiliating ineptitude could overwhelm me again, I turned to the lute case and opened it. The instrument within seemed to smile at me, beckoning me to lift it from its case, take it up into my arms, and let my fingers pluck its strings—so I did.

I settled it in my lap, the familiar weight and shape of it a comfort. I didn’t know what I should play—I didn’t know what I was _doing_ , but nothing seemed to matter anymore in that moment, and so, to keep the tears from returning, I began to pick out the opening notes to what was to have been my audition song: “The Ballad of Dunlain Falls.”

It was soft and melancholy, uncommon for a ballad, but the subject was quite sad as well. It was about a battle—not a great battle, not some clash of kings and queens and generals, but of farmers and fisher folk. The lyrics told of how the villagers stood together to hold off a group of marauding bandits so that the children could escape to safety. The plan worked—but all the adults died, leaving the village a ghost town.

My voice had never been strong, but my playing had always carried it. It did so now, but I imagine there was some additional note of truth in my voice as I sang. Not that I could claim to ever know the same depths of sadness as those long forgotten folk who had given their lives to save their children, but I had surely never been so low in all my life. I was more child than adult myself in that moment, lost in a foreign land, shamed by my own actions—I had thrown my future away out of fear of failure—before I had even tried.

The notes of the ballad dwindled to an end, and as I plucked the last string, I listened to the sound it made, the way it seemed to hover in the air before gradually fading. I opened my eyes, for I had closed them while playing—and almost started out of my seat.

“That was beautiful,” said the man sitting across from me on another stone bench, the abandoned well between us.

He was a Nord—that much I could guess from the breadth of his shoulders alone, but he was bearded as well, as so many of them were. His dark red hair was cut short though; most of the Nords I’d encountered wore theirs long, often in braids.

“I’ve startled you,” he said when I gave no immediate answer. “Please, believe me, that wasn’t my intention. I was simply on my way home, and I heard your playing from the road. I hope you don’t mind my stopping to listen.”

After a moment, I shook my head ‘no,’ my eyes dropping down to the lute in my lap out of habit. I tried to take a deep breath, but all of my anxiety and depression had returned, and I couldn’t.

“Shall I go?” asked the man, and now I could hear regret in his voice.

It made me feel… ashamed. Not in a big way, not in the way I’d felt after rushing out of the audition room like a frightened animal. But in a small way, for he seemed a kind man. He hadn’t done me any harm by stopping here to listen.

“No,” I finally managed.

I bit my lip, raising my eyes towards his. He smiled, the expression lending his face warmth, even in the low lighting. He was an older man, but still strong, a warrior, I supposed, or he had been one once. He was not handsome, but… I liked his face, though I couldn’t really have said why.

“Are you with the college?” he asked.

I shook my head ‘no’ again, once more averting my eyes. That one stung.

“A natural talent, then.”

I could tell he was trying to compliment me. And it was true that I was self-taught; I’d had only my grandmother’s notes to make do with initially, and my own instinctive pleasure over the sounds her old lute could make. But after hearing what I’d heard at the college—and having observed the reactions of others—I no longer felt I could claim to have any significant amount of real talent.

“You are not from the city?” he asked, and when I looked up again, surprised, he gave a little nod towards the backpack still lying at my feet.

I shook my head.

“I’m from High Rock,” I added, surprisingly myself.

“From High Rock!” He smiled, then lifted his hands, spreading them wide with semi-comical effect. “Then I welcome you to Skyrim.”

“Thank you,” I said, unable to help returning his smile.

“May I ask where in High Rock?”

“…From a village near Farrun. About a day’s journey by horse.”

“I should like to see Farrun. I hear it’s quite lovely.”

I was silent, uncertain how to respond. I neither liked nor disliked the city, but I couldn’t say that I particularly enjoyed my excursions there. I hadn’t been very often, either—usually with one of my mothers, when we needed supplies from town.

“You don’t care for it?”

I frowned.

“Well… there are a lot of people in the city. I only go there if one of my mothers asks me to.”

I had to resist the urge to hide my face behind my hands. I sounded like a witless idiot; I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d already taken me for one.

“I see.” He heaved a great sigh then, leaning forward for a moment before straightening and getting to his feet. “Well, I suppose I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you for unintentionally serenading me with your talents—and for putting up with my inane line of questioning.”

 _I didn’t mind your questions_ , I wanted to say, but of course, I didn’t.

He paused, just before turning away. After a moment, he turned to face me again.

“Please excuse my impertinence for asking, but—have you any place to stay?”

The question made my cheeks flare for some reason. Perhaps it was embarrassment. I should have to admit to him, this man, this stranger, that I was, essentially, a hopeless fool.

“If you’ll excuse even further impertinence,” he continued, his smile returning, “I should be happy to escort you into town. As it happens, there’s an inn, very near the city entrance, though you might miss it if you didn’t know to look for it. I can assure you, it’s a very respectable establishment. You will not be ill-treated there.”

This was a boon. My voice caught in my throat again, but only because I was so relieved I scarcely knew how to express it. Instead, I just nodded. This produced an even wider smile on his face, and he stood back, hands clasped behind his back, and waited while I gathered and shouldered my things.

We walked silently alongside one another for some time—I had been in such a state when I’d fled the city that I wasn’t entirely sure how far I’d come. His hands remained clasped behind his back; mine loosely gripped the straps of my backpack. I kept my eyes trained mostly on the road before us, though the way had cleared considerably, for it was now fully dark. Occasionally, a horse or cart might pass us, and there were still a few folk here and there, but nothing like there had been earlier.

“You mentioned your mothers,” said my companion after a while, startling me.

He gave me an apologetic look when I glanced his way.

“There I go again,” he said. “Asking my questions. Do they bother you?”

The question was so earnest, I could only shake my head ‘no.’ Besides, he didn’t seem to mind my occasional inability to respond in turn—or my tendency to stutter when I did manage to do so. There weren’t many about whom I could say the same.

He chuckled.

“You are either too kind or too polite—and I cannot decide which. But I couldn’t help but wonder if this were not your first time away from home. You have the look of a lamb who’s wandered too far from the flock, if you don’t mind my saying.” He winked, and I couldn’t help the little flush that came to my own face. “That must have been rather hard for your parents—to let you go.”

“…I’m to write to them,” I finally managed to say. “To let them know I’m all right.”

“I imagine they’ve waited breathlessly for the post every day since you’ve left.”

I smiled, for the image was awfully charming—and probably more than a little true. I pictured them now, walking arm in arm, making their way towards town (for we lived just outside the village proper), heading eagerly for the little post office. _Slow down, Arenya_ , one would say, giving the other a little tug. _The others will laugh at us if they see how eager we are._ Her wife would laugh and pat her hand, but she would slow her steps as requested. _Just think, Louisa! What a treasure we’ve raised! We shall have a son at the bard’s college!_

The image in my head dissipated, along with the faint tingling of warmth and amusement it had given me. My companion was still looking at me, and I flushed again, swallowing.

“…I suppose,” I said, my eyes lowering to the road before us again.

“Something has upset you,” he said, his voice gentle.

“…No, I just… I don’t think they’ll be very happy when they finally hear from me.”

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, but I find that highly unlikely.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, my fingers squeezing the straps of my backpack.

“They were… expecting more. More than I was able to deliver.”

He was silent for a moment, then:

“I cannot pretend to know the details of the situation. I myself am not a parent, but… there is a young woman who has been like a daughter to me since she lost her own parents as a child. In fact, I was returning from seeing her just now before I happened upon your playing. Were anything to ever happen to her—I’m not sure how I would bear it. For most of the years we have known one another, we have never been more than a few hours apart.”

He breathed in, seeming to straighten and regain some of his good mood.

“So you see, my young friend—” He smiled at me. “—I am quite certain that your mothers will be eager to hear from you, regardless of the circumstances.”

“…I guess so,” I admitted.

Really, it made me feel bad that I had even for a moment assumed otherwise. My parents loved me; I could never have any doubt about it. My failure wouldn’t anger them—disappoint them, perhaps, but then they wouldn’t be disappointed in _me_. They would likely still believe wholeheartedly in my abilities, even despite all evidence to the contrary. The thought couldn’t help but make me smile.

I glanced at the man beside me.

“What’s she like?” I asked, surprising myself. “This woman who isn’t your daughter.”

He smiled, a rather pleased look coming to his face, though I couldn’t have guessed why.

“She’s about your age,” he said. “Tall and beautiful… intelligent. A good person in every aspect. She has had a very hard time of it in recent years, but I believe she is finally beginning to find happiness again. I admit it relieves my conscience to some degree that she has.”

“Why?” I asked. “Do you feel responsible for her unhappiness?”

He laughed, the sudden sound startling me.

“Now who’s asking questions?” he asked, winking at me again. “But, yes. Do I feel responsible for her unhappiness? That’s a rather weighty question, and I’m not sure I can answer it properly. I suppose, in a way, I do. I was acting as her guide, after all. Any fault of hers could therefore be considered my own.”

“Parents aren’t their children,” I said. “My failures aren’t my mothers’. I don’t think that would be very fair.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, his heavy brow furrowing a little.

“A wise point,” he finally said. “Especially as neither you nor Elisif are children any longer. But I say it is hard on parents, nevertheless, to release themselves from that burden of responsibility.”

“…Is that her name?” I asked.

 _Elisif._ I smiled, for it was very pretty. It sounded like the name of a princess in a story. It required a noble-sounding surname though: _Elisif von Hindelson_. I filed it away for later—perhaps a beautiful but impoverished friend of Francesca’s.

“It is,” he said. There was a slight pause, then: “Might I ask your own name?”

The question startled me, and there was something about the suddenly hesitant tone of his voice that made me blush.

“…Laurie,” I managed, lowering my eyes to the road before us yet again.

“A fine name,” came the warm reply. “But it does not sound very Altmer.”

“It’s Breton,” I said. Well, technically a nickname, too. “One of my mothers is Breton.”

“I see.”

I thought he might offer me his own name then, but he didn’t. Instead, we continued to walk in silence again for the remainder of our journey—soon, I was passing once again through the wide main gates of Solitude. This time, however, the guards made note of my passage—or rather, of the man who walked beside me. They seemed to give a little start and straighten, then, of all things, press their fists to their chests in some sort of salute. I glanced at my companion in surprise, but he merely nodded at the guards, and when his eyes met mine, they were almost ashamed.

“Ah,” he said, his hand briefly touching my arm. “This way.”

He led me away from the main road and up to the front door of what was clearly a tavern, for there was a stable nearby, and people lingering outside the building, talking, laughing, and drinking. I supposed it was the hour for revelry, with most folk having left their places of employment for the day.

“Well,” he said, pausing and folding his hands behind his back again. “This is the place. I shall shame myself one more time by asking yet another question that is hardly appropriate: do you—that is, if you are in need of money, I am more than happily situated to offer you some. I understand it may be a matter of pride, but even if it’s just for one night—”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, for I could see the offer was embarrassing him. “Really. I have… a lot of money.” More than I knew what to do with, now.

He blinked at me, glancing around us before leaning slightly closer, his voice lowering: “I am happy to hear it. But I implore you not to speak so openly of the fact.” He straightened, adding in a more normal tone of voice, “Unfortunately, not all who call this great city ‘home’ are as pure of heart as… one might imagine.”

It seemed as if he’d been about to say one thing yet amended his words at the last minute. The smile he was giving me now was almost fond, and it made me feel foolish—of _course_ I ought not announce to the entire city that I was carrying a great deal of money. This wasn’t my little village—this was Solitude, the great capital of Haafingar Hold.

“If you are in need of no further assistance…” he said, letting the words trail off expectantly.

“No,” I said quickly. “Thank you.”

I wished suddenly that I might shake his hand or—a strange thought came to me, unbidden, and it made me blush terribly. Maybe it was because I wasn’t used to being able to stare another man in the eye—the one before me might even be _taller_ than me. The thought made me feel just a little bit faint.

“You’ve been so kind,” I added, feeling suddenly awkward.

He smiled, the expression warm.

“It has been my pleasure. Think of it as repayment for your lovely performance.” He seemed to hesitate before finally adding: “Good night. It was… wonderful to meet you.”

I nodded, too unsure of myself to try and return the compliment. He nodded back, then, sparing me one more little smile, turned and made his way back towards the main road. I watched him for a few seconds more before turning and making my own way towards the tavern entrance.

//

Image by [Knightdawn](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/KnightDawn/pseuds/KnightDawn) ❤❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so they meet...
> 
> Any similarities between these two and another couple and how _they_ met are PURELY coincidental! *clears throat* 🙃😁


	3. Chapter 3

The inn was called the Winking Skeever. The sign above the door said as much; I couldn’t imagine naming one’s business after such a creature, but the place seemed as respectable as the kind man had said it would be. The common room was full at this hour, patrons laughing and talking over their after-dinner drinks—and that’s when it occurred to me that I was quite hungry myself, for I hadn’t eaten anything since midday. And even then it had only been the bit of biscuit and fruit I’d saved from breakfast.

I made my way towards the back of the tavern, where I could see a sort of bar. People perched on stools or stood around the area, talking to one another or to the man behind the bar, who leaned back against one wall, arms crossed over his chest. Occasionally, he would move to pour a drink, but it was the younger people he employed—a man and a teenaged girl, whom I would later learn were his children—who seemed to do most of the work, rushing back and forth between the kitchen and the bar and the tables full of people.

I took a deep breath, my fingers squeezing around the straps of my backpack as I did so, then began to walk towards the bar.

“Need something?” asked the man behind the bar, breaking away from his conversation to nod at me.

I opened my mouth, but then all the air seemed to rush out of my lungs the way it sometimes did. I closed it again, swallowing. Some of the others had turned to look at me as well.

The man behind the bar rolled his eyes.

“Relax, kid; I’m not gonna bite.” He chuckled and gave me a little wink. “Not unless you want me to.”

That set several of the patrons off, laughter now filling the air amidst cries of _Nice try, Vinius_ and _He’s a little young for you, don’t you think, old man?_

Vinius—I supposed that was his name—snorted, and nodded at me again.

“Ignore them. What’ll you have—dinner? A room?”

“A room,” I said, seizing on the words as if they’d been offered to me on a platter.

“10 septims for the deluxe room, 3 for the regular. Got plenty of both. Deluxe has running water, wash tub, and a window. Plus I make sure the kids wash the sheets afterward with extra soap.” He winked again. “Never know who was in there before you and what they got up to.”

“…A regular room, please,” I said, now feeling as if I were about to hand my hard-earned money over for a rat-infested dung-heap of a room with bodily fluids spread all over the bed.

“Need to work on your sales pitch, Vinius,” said one woman, making the rest all laugh again.

“Regular it is,” said Vinius. “Anything to eat or drink? We can have it ready for you once you’ve settled in.”

I nodded, for I was quite hungry, but the way he’d phrased it made my poor suffering stomach turn over a bit, for I’d hoped to eat alone in my room.

“What’ll you have? Cook makes a great meat and potato stew. Can’t always guarantee beef but it’s good nonetheless.”

I nodded again.

“And how about a spot of ale with your dinner?” Another nod, and he turned, reaching for a key on one of the pegs behind the bar before turning to face me again. “Brings your total to 4 septims, 20 pennies. Room number 14,” he added, once I handed him the money. “Number’s painted on the door, second floor. Come back down when you’re ready and Sorex or Minette’ll bring you your dinner.”

I nodded my thanks and pocketed the key, ignoring the curious looks of the other patrons as I turned away from the bar. They began ribbing Vinius again almost as soon as I’d left; I supposed it was good-natured enough, but I didn’t quite like having myself be spoken of in such a… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want my mothers to hear some of the words they were using to describe me and what they thought Vinius should do with me.

The common room area was full. Most of the tables were packed, and a bard stood near the fireplace and sang while strumming and plucking at a lyre harp. She had a clear, pretty voice that wove through the voices of the patrons rather than attempt to overpower them. I almost stayed to listen to her—there was only one empty table near her, for those near the fireplace appeared to be quite popular—but I convinced myself she would still be there when I returned.

The lighting dimmed considerably once I was away from the common area; there were a few windows but it was dark out. Wall sconces lit the way up the stairs, but some had been extinguished. I hadn’t noticed any other employees aside from Vinius’ children, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned any. I imagined they were rather worked to the bone, trying to keep this place running while their father relaxed and chatted behind his bar.

I had to walk quite a bit before I found my room. It was down an even darker, narrower hallway; it had been easy to spot the “deluxe” rooms, for there’d been a lovely little sitting area with several better-lit doors facing it. I’d also passed a not-too-great smelling doorway labeled “washroom” and tried not to sigh. After spending several weeks on a ship, I’d really been looking forward to a nice bath, and perhaps some more… hygienic facilities. Alas.

My room was totally dark, the fireplace unlit. I set my things down on the bed first before going back out into the hallway and wiggling loose one of the wall sconces. With this I was able to locate a few candles; I set these by the bedside but didn’t light them—candles were expensive, and I didn’t need them yet. I had a feeling they wouldn’t be replaced until I’d vacated the room (or if they were, Vinius would charge me for them). As for the fireplace, the nights weren’t too chilly, and I was fearful of being charged for the wood, so I decided not to light that yet either—there would be no point to it, since I was headed back downstairs anyway.

I gathered a few things with me—mainly, a few sheets of parchment, a pen, and the newspaper I’d purchased earlier—and made my way back down to the common room.

I was in luck. The bard was no longer playing, but the empty table I’d spotted near the fireplace was still empty. I pulled one of the chairs out, sitting down tentatively, wondering if I was supposed to signal Sorex or Minette. No one glanced my way. Sighing, I pulled out my parchment, rested my chin on one hand, and tried to write.

_Dear Mothers,_

…And that was as far as I could get. How exactly was I to break the news to them? _I’m sorry you thought I was greater than I truly am_. Melodramatic and reeking of self-pity. _The audition did not go as I’d planned._ True, but not exactly the _exact_ truth.

_I met a man who said I played beautifully, and it made me feel as if I mattered._

“Stew and ale, right?”

I jerked upright as a bowl of hot stew was plopped down before me—right on top of my would-be letter, some of the contents even slopping out to stain the parchment.

“Oh, dear,” said the girl—Minette, the owner’s daughter. “Sorry about that.” She gave the parchment a few quick dabs with a dish towel after setting down the mug of ale. “Hope you weren’t working on anything important!”

She was off again before I could even get a word in. I picked up the ruined piece of parchment and gazed at it in despair. Parchment wasn’t cheap, though I still had plenty with me. It was a terrible thing to have to waste, nonetheless. I sighed and folded it up, slipping it behind a few other clean sheets. Perhaps I could use it for notes.

The stew was scalding hot. This, I had to assume, was to disguise the utter lack of flavoring. I genuinely wondered if I was supposed to have requested salt, let alone pepper, garlic, or any of the other usual seasonings. Still, one hearty bowl left me reasonably full, which was more than I could say for whatever I’d been able to afford on the ship. (The sailors had called it ‘hardtack,’ and it didn’t take long for me to see why. I think I might’ve still had some stuck between my teeth.) The ale was watery but drinkable, but I’d never been overly fond of spirits, other than the sweet wine my mothers sometimes brought home from the market.

“Mind if I join you?”

I looked up from my dinner, my mouth still half-full with stew. The woman smiling down at me was about my age, with strawberry-blond brown hair and… rather sizeable… well, she had what many would no doubt consider an attractive figure, and the dress she was wearing seemed to be doing its best to accentuate that.

“Eyes are up here,” she chirped, and I felt my face flush red hot, for I hadn’t any interest in that sort of thing whatsoever!

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, “I’m not… I mean, I don’t…”

She laughed and took a seat, evidently forgetting that I’d yet to respond to her original question.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, plunking her own bowl and mug down. “I was only teasing. Besides, I can tell when a man’s interested and when he’s not.”

She gave me a wink, and there was something about her voice… of course! I’d only glanced at her earlier for a second, but—

“You’re the bard,” I said, and I suppose I was so surprised by the realization that I forgot to be nervous around her.

“Oh, Dibella, no!” She laughed again; it made her painted features crack ever so slightly. “A bard! I wish. No, Corpulus pretty much only lets me play here for half-priced room and board. I _did_ have plans to audition for the college, but those kind of fell through.”

“But… your playing is lovely,” I said, astonished that someone so talented could think themselves unfit to audition.

She beamed.

“Thank you for saying so. It’s nice to have someone notice; the brutes who frequent this place don’t seem to care. But it’s not that. I mean, maybe it would’ve been; I suppose I’ll never know. Thing is, though, all that money I saved up over the years, waiting tables at my father’s inn, performing, doing odd jobs—gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone. It’s a long journey from Dawnstar to here, so I guess I shouldn’t’ve expected to make it here without trouble. Luckily, I was traveling with a few other people, but that didn’t stop those bandits from holding us all up and stealing every bit of coin we were carrying with us.”

“…That’s awful,” I managed. At least I still _had_ my money.

She shrugged.

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it. But the truth is, I think I just wanted out of that little inn. Out of Dawnstar—oh, it’s a fine enough city, but I’d spent my whole life there, mostly helping my father tend to his business—and to get over the loss of my mother.”

“…I’m sorry,” I said, for I wasn’t quite sure what else to say to that.

“Oh, it was a long time ago. I tried to get him to remarry, but he refused. Then I thought, maybe the reason he won’t remarry is because he thinks I’ll always be around to take care of him. Well!” She smirked, though there was no malice in the expression. “Guess I disabused him of _that_ notion.”

I thought that a very hard attitude to take with a grieving parent, but I supposed I wasn’t exactly in her shoes—who was I to judge? Besides, I couldn’t possibly imagine life without either of my mothers. It was too difficult to bear even thinking about.

“Gods above, where are my manners? I’m Karita, by the way.” She offered me her hand to shake, so I took it, tentatively.

“…Laurie,” I said.

“Come again?” she asked, for my voice had gotten lost in the sudden roar of laughter from the next table over.

“LAURIE,” I said, only now the laughter had died down, so it sounded as if I were yelling for no reason. I gave a little whimper of despair and wished desperately to disappear under the table.

Karita only laughed.

“Nice to meet you, Laurie. That short for something?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well?”

Oh.

“…Lawrence.”

My full name always sounded funny on my lips. Maybe because no one ever really used it.

She blinked at me.

“Well! That’s even less Altmer-sounding than I was expecting. Though I guess you’re not entirely Altmer; you’re browner than I am after a hot summer.”

I could feel myself blushing again; it reminded me of how people had stared when I’d first arrived here. Luckily, in the hustle and bustle of the city proper, I’d apparently managed to blend in a bit better. Or perhaps folk in a big city were at least somewhat used to seeing people of mixed heritage.

I had the brief thought, too, that the man at the well hadn’t remarked on my appearance. I chose to imagine that that had been a sign of his kindness.

“Oh, gods disown me,” said Karita, laughing yet again. “There I go again, putting my foot in my mouth. I’ve offended you, haven’t I?”

“…No,” I said, but I must not have sounded very convincing, for she reached over and gave my hand a little friendly pat.

“Don’t mind me. Humans don’t generally mind about that sort of thing, you know. Why, our neighbors have a whole brood of half-Nord, half-Redguard children and no one cares one way or the other. And let’s see, there’s a mill owner with an Imperial wife just down the road from the inn; they’ve probably had their first by now, nice and healthy, gods willing.”

“I’m not…” I felt my heart stutter in my chest—why was it such an embarrassing topic? “I was adopted,” I finished lamely.

“Oh! Don’t know who your real parents are then?”

“I know who my real parents are,” I said, bristling before I could stop myself. “They adopted me when I was a baby.”

Now it was finally her turn to blush, her cheeks reddening to nearly match the splash of color she’d probably applied early this morning.

“I’m really showing myself to be the country knob, aren’t I? Not that anyone from Dawnstar would consider themselves country folk, what with it being the capital and all. But I passed through several other towns to get here, and I swear each of them is twice the size of Dawnstar.” She gave another, uneasy laugh. “Sorry, not the point. I didn’t mean to imply your parents weren’t—you know, you _real_ parents. Or that—honestly, I’ve not met a lot of Altmer—or elves in general—well, just the ones who come through town sometimes and stay at the inn.”

“Neither have I,” I said, and I couldn’t help smiling at the confused look that came over her face.

I finally laughed (it felt rather good, too).

“One of my mothers is Altmer, but the other is Breton. I’m from High Rock.”

“Oh!” said Karita. “There aren’t many elves in High Rock, then?”

“I don’t know about the rest of the country. But in my village, no. There were a few other Altmer… one Bosmer family…”

I smiled, thinking of Elis, Cyfina, and their seven children. The oldest sometimes liked to follow us back from town and play around the farm; my mothers always instructed me to watch them and make sure they didn’t do themselves any harm. I hadn’t minded.

Karita smiled.

“A village! Sounds cozy.”

“It was. But…” I looked down at my stew for a moment, my fingers absently stroking the metal spoon.

“But maybe you can relate to the idea of wanting to strike out from home—however much you enjoyed being there.”

I nodded, though it made me feel guilty to even tacitly admit as much. I already missed my parents dearly. I missed the way one would always hug me and kiss my cheek in the morning, the way the other would sit at the table and sip her coffee and ask me what I had planned for the day. They never judged me for my answer. _I’m working on a new story_ , I might say. _How delightful!_ and _You’ll have to let us read it when you’re finished_ they’d say.

But I missed our little house, too, and the gardens—I liked pulling carrots and radishes and potatoes for dinner. I liked collecting the eggs, milking the cows (when it was my turn), tending the compost heap, helping to thatch the roof when it started to sink in a bit. I liked finding a quiet spot under a tree to write or practice my playing. I once fell asleep for hours and woke up with a deer and her fawn not five feet away from me, quietly grazing.

But maybe I sometimes wondered if there weren’t more to life than a pair of loving parents, a quaint little farmhouse, and a sleepy village an hour’s walk away.

“You don’t have to feel bad about it,” said Karita, her voice softening ever so slightly. “I did for a bit, you know, what with my father being so dependent on me and all. But we’re people, too, you know? We have ideas and ambitions—visions for the future. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I nodded, still a little aggrieved with my own realization, but she wasn’t wrong. And I knew the two people who loved me most wouldn’t disagree with her either.

“So!” said Karita, her tone brightening, “Saw you play, too, or were you just carrying that pretty thing on your back for the hell of it?”

I blinked, taken aback at first, but once I could see she was teasing, I relaxed again.

“It’s my grandmother’s lute,” I said, looking down at my stew again. “I’ve been practicing on it for years.”

“I’d love to hear you play sometime. Maybe tomorrow? We could play together!”

I flushed, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest at such a prospect—and not in a pleasant way.

“I don’t know,” I said thickly. “I’ve never… played in front of other people. Other than my parents. I’m not… sure I could.”

Ridiculous, considering the entire reason I’d journeyed all the way across the sea to get here. But I supposed it was true enough. I’d simply banked on preparing myself enough to perform before my future professors.

But _that_ had exactly worked out as I’d hoped.

“Nonsense!” said Karita, “Bet you could. What if it’s just you and me and the two kids cleaning up after breakfast? No one really sticks around in the morning, you know; people are either out working or, well, looking for work if that’s what they’re in town for.”

“…Maybe,” I allowed. “But… I’ve never played with another person before, either.”

“Oh, it’s fun. You’ll see. Or you could play and I could sing, or vice versa. Bet you’re going to tell me you’re not a great singer now.”

“I’m not,” I said, smiling despite myself.

“Well, you can still probably carry a tune better than any of the yokels here. Anyway.” She sat back, and I realized she’d completely finished her bowl of stew—people who can eat and talk at the same time are amazing. “I guess I should let you get back to your writing. You plan to stick around for a bit?”

“…I don’t really have any plans,” I said, and truer words really couldn’t have been spoken.

“Great! I’ll see tomorrow then. Don’t forget your promise to play with me!”

I hadn’t promised her anything, but I decided not to say anything about it. I simply nodded, mustering another small smile in reply to her own beaming grin. I watched as she brought her empty bowl and mug back up to the bar before wandering over to another table. The people there seemed to all know her, for she was greeted with friendly cheers, and one man even pulled a chair out for her to sit. I’d gotten the impression that she hadn’t been staying here for very long, but perhaps I’d been wrong.

I tried to continue my letter as I ate, but the words just wouldn’t come. I knew the man at the well had been right: my parents _wanted_ to hear from me; they wouldn’t judge me for anything that had happened. Yet I still couldn’t find the words to tell them. After a moment, I set the letter aside, and promised myself I’d attend to it tomorrow.

I opened the newspaper I’d bought, scanning it as I sipped the rest of my watery ale. The first few pages were filled with stories referencing things far beyond my comprehension: an upcoming moot (this was what was splashed all across the front page—there was even an artist’s rendition of this ‘Jarl Ulfric,’ and I don’t think I’d ever seen a more intimidating figure in my entire life), a report on taxes being levied against certain goods, the results of a meeting between city guild members. Alverton had only gotten a printing press three years ago; the village newsletter was written and run by two elderly women, and it mostly consisted of birth, marriage, and death announcements, suggested prayers to the gods for things like good crops and fair weather, and little poems and stories that folk submitted. I’d even submitted a few stories myself, though I’d had to keep them relatively clean—the exploits of Francesca (and her equally romantically-inclined twin brother, Francis) had thus far only been shared with my giggling mothers.

To my great surprise (and delight), _this_ newspaper appeared to cater to a literary audience as well. There was an entire section called ‘Songs of Solitude’—I thought it might be maintained by the bard’s college, but there was nothing to indicate that it was. One page was nothing but poetry, some of it submitted, some of it clearly a reprint of classic works of poetry. There were essays, too, write-ups about theatre, music, and art—and a section on fiction.

The submissions listed the authors of each piece, though some were anonymous, and some clearly pseudonyms. One appeared to be a reprinting of a famous Nord myth—even I had heard of it. At the bottom, there was a listing of smaller papers; they were called _journals_ , and had titles like _The Red Rose Journal_ and _The Bee and Butterfly_. Each listed an address and a ‘call for submissions’ depending on each journal’s individual audience— _The Bee and Butterfly_ , for example, apparently catered to children.

I sat back, my heart suddenly fluttering in my chest. Writing—it wasn’t something I’d ever given serious thought to. I did it because I loved it; I could lose myself for hours in a story. I guess my life would be considered idyllic by many, and I was certainly happy, but… aside from my mothers, I was often alone. Creating stories and characters not only helped pass the time (when I didn’t have chores to do) but populated my mind with people I would never meet in real life yet who felt real and special to me nonetheless. And through them, I was able to experience things I could thus far only dream about: adventure, mystery… romance…

I checked the list of journals again, just to be sure, but—yes, they were actually offering to _pay_ authors who submitted! Some paid less than others—a few pennies a page. Others offered an entire septim, sometimes even more.

I took a deep breath and quickly folded the paper back up. Even thinking about it was starting to make my chest hurt, but I couldn’t help feeling just the smallest modicum of hope. What if I didn’t return home after all?

What if I stayed here, in Solitude, and tried to make my living?

I swallowed, the little bubble of air sliding painfully down my throat. I touched my throat absently, then moved to rest my hand over my heart, willing it to slow. Was I a fool for even entertaining such a notion? I had come here with the sole purpose of joining the college. Afterward—we hadn’t really discussed it. I suppose I’d always thought I would return home eventually. I could _still_ return home; it wasn’t as if I’d never see my parents again. But I was so… we had always been together. I didn’t know _how_ to live without them… certainly not alone and on my own.

Well, whatever I decided, it would have to wait until morning. After the long day I’d had, I was tired. For now, I needed the washroom, and I needed sleep.

I hoped to make my way out of the common room without notice, but sure enough, Karita spotted me and tried to wave me over. She shouted something above the din of the crowd, but I couldn’t quite catch it. Feeling foolish, I shook my head and hurried away in the opposite direction towards the stairs leading to the overnight rooms. My face felt hot, and I was sure everyone at her table must be laughing now at the tall, silly elf who refused to sit with them.

Back in my room, I grabbed my mug from my backpack and made my way back down the hallway towards the washroom. I made use of the facilities only because I had to—at least the toilets were flush toilets. The smell was quite awful, and though the bathing area was much cleaner, several of the tubs and showers were already in use. It was shocking to me that there were no private facilities—then again, apparently the _deluxe_ rooms had better options. Whatever the case, I decided to save bathing for another day.

I filled my mug with water and returned to my room, where I finally lit the fireplace. There was luckily a hook and a cooking pot, so I poured the water in there and waited for it to boil before refilling my mug again.

The herb mixture had been put together by the village healer, but he’d given me the ingredients list and said it should be easy enough for me to procure the same mixture here in Solitude. For now, I steeped one of the last remaining satchels and slowly sipped my tea, the lavender and lemon balm disguising the harsh bite of the more medicinal herbs. I thought about trying to work on my letter again, but I was too tired. Instead, I set my empty mug down, banked the fire, and crawled into bed. It was a relief to be able to hold my old stuffed bear to my chest as I tried to ignore the lumpiness of my pillow and the thinness of my blanket—I’d been too embarrassed to sleep with it while on the ship. I’d rolled my eyes at my mothers insisting I bring it with me, but the truth was, it smelled like home—it _felt_ like home, and why should being an adult preclude seeking comfort wherever I might find it?

I thought of the man at the well, and what he should think of me if he should see me sleeping with a stuffed bear. I couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled up in my chest. I let myself imagine spending time with him, visiting with him, wherever he might live—learning that, he, too, slept with some old, soft, childhood toy. And I would tease him, and he would stop my laughter by kissing me.

I liked to envision such things—usually before bed, for that was the best time for it—though they seemed likely never to happen.

I sighed, smiling at my ridiculous imagination, and let myself drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I found a real life Laurie!! He even has his little backpack. 🎒


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing I did upon waking up the next morning—well, apart from relight some of the candles so I could actually see—was pull out a piece of parchment, sit down before the fire, and start writing.

_Dear Mothers,_

_Hope you are both well. Everything is going just as I thought it would. Please respond to this address._

_xx Laurie_

Before I could second guess myself, I folded it carefully before slipping it between two pages of my manuscript collection. Then I banked the fire, made my bed, stashed the lute and bag of septims between it and the wall, and—after first using the hallway washroom, making sure to breathe through my mouth the entire time—made my way downstairs.

Luckily, I didn’t see Karita, so I must have been early. The common room was still half-full with breakfasters. That meant I had some time to sit down and think before she might appear. I wasn’t so certain I couldn’t tell her to her face that I was too nervous to stand up with her and play—then again, perhaps she’d forgotten all about it—both me _and_ the invitation.

Considering my own uncertain financial future, I thought it would be expedient to forgo breakfast. Of course, when Minette asked if I shouldn’t at least like a cup of coffee, I felt obliged to say _yes_ , so at least I had something to sip on as I worked.

I began sorting and cataloguing my stories. I had brought quite a few with me, especially those I was still working on, planned to edit, or just liked reading over again. I sorted through all the completed stories, then made a stack of those that would be most suitable for children—the same ones I had submitted to the local newspaper back home. I had a few that could be considered thrilling and mysterious; one involved the murder of an old priest of Mara; another featured a haunted tree—the characters were all children, but I thought it too frightening to place in the children’s pile.

But the majority were romance. The exploits of Francesca and Francis Neramo, twins separated at birth, who learned of their true identities at the king’s grand ball—well, that bit was a little over the top, and I was considering reworking it—had sustained my imagination for years now. Francesca, fiery, defiant, and passionate, was unwilling to do as her parents instructed her and marry a man who did not have her heart (though he had already had her body, several times over), for she was torn by her admiration for the prince to whom she was betrothed—and the roguish ship’s captain who had stolen her heart. Her brother, Francis, shy, reserved, overlooked by most—his heart beat solely for the handsome captain of the guard, who, alas, was already married. I had had both my mothers on the edges of their seats more than once, leaving them wondering, in agony, begging me to tell them whether Francesca would choose duty over love, or whether Francis would ever bear his soul to the man he loved. Of course, things had gotten rather tricky, now that the guardsman’s wife had fallen in lust with Francis, and now that Francesca was beginning to question if she didn’t perhaps love the prince after all. I had been accused of playing with the emotions and expectations of my readers, of being a hateful lie and a cheat and a tease—and I had loved every minute of it.

Poor Francesca and Francis—they were good enough to entertain the three of us, but were they good enough to entertain others? I supposed there could only be one way to find out. Satisfied for the most part with my selections, I gathered all of my chosen stories, slipped them into a smaller, leather shoulder satchel I had packed with me, and set out.

It was another bright, sunny day, but this time the cheerfulness rather matched my mood. I was still fairly overcome by everything that had happened yesterday, but I was determined to put it aside for now and make my way through the world—never mind the little voice in the back of my head that kept trying to convince me that I wasn’t cut out for this—that I hadn’t been cut out for the college, and that I certainly wasn’t cut out for big city life on my own. No, I could either listen to that voice and wallow in misery until I ran out of money and was forced to return home, or I could try, for once in my life, to stand up for myself. This morning, I chose the latter.

The streets were wildly busy; I had to dodge horses and carts as well as people, patrolling guards, running children, people just beginning their day, off to work or to shop or to visit with friends. My first task was to orient myself; a map of the city would have been useful, but I hadn’t the slightest clue how to obtain one. Once I discovered which street the tavern was on, that led me to locate the names of several other streets I passed, for street names were designated via free-standing placards, yet only occasionally posted at various intersections. Most of the names were distinctly Nordic: Vekmoor Way or Gunnir Street or The Fist of Baltuur—which was a rather intimidating name for a little circular path wherein merchants had set up stands to peddle their wares. But some, like Stag’s Crossing or Weaver’s Way, reminded me more of home.

Nevertheless, it soon became apparent that wandering aimlessly through the city was not going to go far in helping me locate the addresses I was looking for—no matter how many street signs I encountered. I thought to pause and draw a map of where my feet had taken me thus far, but I was quickly reminded of the fact that I had little talent for drawing. Sighing, I knew that there was really only one solution to my problem: I was going to have to ask for directions.

First I had to decide who to ask. Random citizens were out of the question; they were all quite busy-looking, seemingly rushing from one task to the other. Who should like being interrupted by a stranger asking for directions? No one, I presumed, and a confrontation was the last thing I wanted. Merchants were another possibility, but they were so loud, barking out about this discount or that “2-for-1” deal—I shuddered at the thought of drawing the attention of one and having some loud, booming voice invite me over to take a closer look at their items on display.

I sighed. It was going to have to be one of the city guards. The fact that I’d spoken to one yesterday helped, for he’d been a kindly fellow, even if he’d at first thought me a trespasser and a possible thief. I found myself wondering if the man at the well weren’t also some manner of high-ranking guardsman, for the city guards at the main gates had saluted him when we’d passed, and he’d acknowledged it, albeit with seeming reluctance.

I frowned, shaking the nonsense thought from my head—daydreaming about kind men with red beards was all very well and good before one were about to drop off to sleep for the night, but I had a task to see to. City guards were everywhere, really, and, oddly enough, seemed the least preoccupied of all the city folk. They strolled about, sometimes in pairs, or were stationed before important looking buildings, or sometimes merely stood together, chatting with one another. A large group was far too intimidating, so I chose to approach a pair who were standing close to the stone steps leading up to what I thought might be a barracks, for other guardsmen and women occasionally entered and exited the building.

“Yes?” said one, finally looking away from her companion. “Can I help you?”

She didn’t exactly look pleased to see me. But maybe that was because I’d been standing silently nearby for the past minute or so, hoping one or both of them would notice me.

I fumbled for the paper in my hands, folding it and holding it up for them to see. The woman put her hand over her sword hilt, her eyes narrowing at me, but then they shifted to the paper in my hands.

“Boy’s a mute,” said the other guard, frowning at me.

My face burned, but I saw no reason to correct him—that is, I knew that I _should_ , but it was so much easier not to.

“You’re looking for this address?” asked the woman. I nodded, and she took the paper from me, the better to peer at it, I suppose. “That’s not too far from here,” she continued, “A little off the beaten path, I’ll grant you. More of a residential area, wouldn’t you say, Ander?”

“Let me see,” said her companion, taking the paper from her. “Oh, aye, I know the area. Lot of greenbloods get put on patrol there. Mostly old homes, old shops, granddads and grandmothers, that sort of thing. Not a lot of action.”

“What about these?” asked the first guard, indicating several other addresses I’d circled, for I naturally had plans to submit to several different publications.

But I wasn’t sure how to respond. Even if she gave me directions, there was no way I could keep all of that straight in my head. I wanted to ask if I might come back after visiting the first address, but then my face grew hot again, for they assumed I was mute and couldn’t speak.

“You’re pressuring the lad,” said the second guard. “Look at him; he’s as red as a tomato.”

“I’m not mute,” I burst out, and immediately squeezed my eyes shut. At least my heart remained steady.

“Just shy then,” said the first guard. “There you are, Ander, that’s what you get for making assumptions. Must be from outside the city.” She glanced at the paper again, full of circled journal titles, then at the satchel at my side. “Aspiring writer, are we?”

When I nodded, she grinned.

“Never was much for reading myself. Well, good luck with it. Oh! The first address.” She turned and pointed towards a street I hadn’t yet been down. “Head down this way here and take a left at the next intersection. That should be Vekkel Street, right?”

“Aye,” said Ander, nodding.

“Right, head down Vekkel Street for a bit; the road you’re looking for will be on the right, just past a clothier’s shop. Radiant Raiment, I think it’s called. As for the place itself, you’ll have to hope for a number on the door, though I imagine if they’re printing their address in the paper they should have it up.”

“Thank you,” I said, tucking the paper back inside my satchel once she returned it to me.

“Not a problem. The other addresses are all north of here, by the way, quite a ways off, too. Hope you pulled your walking boots on today.”

I nodded since I wasn’t sure quite what else to say to that. After bidding me good-bye, they both turned away from me, and I hurried to follow the directions that had been given to me, lest I should forget them. Vekkel Street was easy enough to find, but it was some time before I found the clothier’s shop the guard had mentioned. I turned duly right and began to scrutinize each door I passed. Most residents hadn’t bothered to nail or paint address numbers to their doors, but when I finally came to the one I was looking for, I needn’t have bothered searching so carefully: the door not only had the number “14” stenciled in neat, white letters but was itself painted a bright yellow. An equally bright and colorful sign hung over the front of the house with the words _The Bee and Butterfly_ printed on it.

I took a deep breath before making my way up the short, stone steps. Once I faced the door, I paused, closed my eyes, and rehearsed what I planned to say: _Good morning. My name is Lawrence Nailo, and I saw your advertisement in the Solitude Post. I am interested in submitting a story to ‘The Bee and Butterfly.’ I have several samples of my work if you’d like to peruse them_. I reopened my eyes, took another deep breath—and knocked.

And waited.

After a minute or two had passed, during which I began to fear what anyone passing by must think of me, hovering on someone’s doorstep like this, I decided to knock again—this time, a bit louder, and a bit longer.

Still nothing.

I waited another minute or so, my stomach steadily sinking. This was hardly a fortuitous beginning to my efforts to support myself through my writing. I knocked one last time, then silently counted to sixty before finally giving up. However, just as I turned to go—the little yellow door finally opened.

“Hello, there,” said the pleasant-faced elderly Nord woman. “Are you hear to drop off a story, dear?”

I blinked, and opened my mouth, but now realized my prepared spiel wouldn’t make sense. Why on Nirn could she not have simply said _hello_?

“Why don’t you come in for some tea and breakfast,” she continued. “Unless you’ve already had breakfast, of course, in which case you can just have some tea.”

She stood back, smiling, clearly expecting me to enter. So, after hesitating for a moment longer, one hand now gripping the strap of my satchel, I nodded and entered.

She shut the door behind me, calling out over her shoulder: “Betia, one of the writers is here!”

I started, my heart thudding in my chest. Did she mistake me for a regular contributor?

“Right this way, dear,” she said, leading me into a sort of sitting room that looked out onto the street. “Have a seat—oh, what did you say your name was? You’ll have to forgive me; I don’t often deal with you writers; that’s Betia’s job. Should you like honey or jam on your toast?”

“…Honey, please,” I said, sinking down into a plush, pink sofa after a moment. I cleared my throat, then took a quick breath before opening my mouth to…

“Goodness, Ullia, who is this?” asked another elderly woman.

She looked so much like the first woman I had to assume they were sisters. She had paused in the doorway and was currently staring at me as if I might be a bandit who’d somehow managed to hoodwink them both into giving me all of their valuables.

“Well, this is one of the writers, isn’t it?” asked Ullia, handing me my plate of toast and honey.

“I’ve never seen the boy before in my life,” said Betia (or so I presumed). “You’ve not used some sort of potion to alter your appearance, have you? What’s your name, dear?”

“…Laurie,” I said, ignoring the way my stomach gurgled as the delicious smell of my would-be breakfast began to tickle my nose.

“I’m afraid I don’t know any Lauries,” said Betia. “Ullia, are you sure he’s a writer?”

“Well, why else would I have let him in?” said the other lady. “Besides, I’m not half-certain he knows his own name, he stutters so.”

“You’d best tell us who you really are,” said Betia, sitting down before me.

“But… I _am_ Laurie,” I said, feeling my face go hot as usual, for it was rather embarrassing to be sitting in someone’s sitting room, trying to convince them you were who you said you were. “I saw your advertisement in the _Solitude Post_. I’m interested in submitting a story to _The Bee and Butterfly_. I brought… several samples for your perusal…”

I was already fumbling with the satchel at my waist, pulling out the stack of stories I had so neatly separated earlier this morning. Only of course I dropped a few sheets in my nervousness; Betia kindly leaned over and gathered them up.

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said after a moment.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Betia, dear,” said Ullia, leaning over now to hand me a steaming cup of tea.

“Not as such,” said Betia. After a moment, she handed me the stack of papers I’d dropped, a vaguely amused look on her face. “We’re a children’s publication, my dear. You might try _The Red Rose_ for this sort of thing.”

I blinked and looked down at what she’d returned to me.

If my face had felt hot a moment before, it now felt as if I’d dipped my cheeks in molten lava. I hadn’t just dropped one of the twins’ stories. I’d dropped one of the more—if not _the_ most—explicit scenes between Francesca and the prince. In essence, to say that breasts were heaving, desire was pulsing, and heat was gathering—would have been a vast understatement.

“I’m so sorry!!!” I cried, shuffling the papers before finally cramming them all back into my satchel with shaking hands. “I didn’t mean for you to see that, that is, I—I have _other_ stories, of a, a less—

“Sordid nature?” asked Betia, her amusement clearly growing.

“Oh dear,” said Ullia, laughing. “I’d rather like to read it now.”

“Oh, _do_ calm down, my dear,” said Betia, now chuckling as well. “Though if you _should_ like to publish that sort of thing we’ll have to insist that you use a pseudonym. I hope you can understand.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, my words still stumbling over one another, though I was so relieved that they weren’t going to both immediately throw me out of the house I felt as though I werr floating.

“Why don’t you show us your _other_ stories,” said Ullia kindly. “Perhaps something more appropriate for our little journal?”

I did so, and after they’d both glanced over them for a bit, said that they were certainly interested, that I had a fine voice and a clear penchant for description. But they also insisted on looking over each piece carefully; they couldn’t make promises to publish anything without carefully reading through it—they had a certain tone and reputation to upkeep, after all.

“I usually invite our authors over for editing sessions,” said Betia. “That way we can go over all the changes that might need to be made, for we shouldn’t like to change a single letter without your permission.”

“Might I also suggest, for the future, an animal story or two?” said Ullia. “The little ones do so love that sort of thing; they’re becoming quite popular, you know.”

“…Animal stories?” I asked.

“Talking pigs and chickens and bunny rabbits, my dear, that sort of thing,” said Betia. “Hold on a moment, perhaps this might help you better understand what we’re looking for.”

She got up but was gone only for a moment; when she returned, she handed me a copy of the journal. The cover was a pretty pastel green, the title was written in elegant yet playful letters, with a little bee and butterfly flitting about.

“Ullia handles the design and the printing and all that,” said Betia, after I’d remarked on how neatly it all looked. “She has an eye for such things.”

They told me then—after I’d finished my toast and tea, of course—that I should return next week. They would let me know what they thought of the stories I had brought today and whether they should like to print them. They also encouraged me to bring more stories, and not to be discouraged if not everything—or anything—I had submitted today would be approved for publication.

“Where do you live, dear?” said Betia. “We like to send out a little reminder to our writers to confirm our editing sessions.”

When I informed them that I was staying at the Winking Skeever, they were rather aghast. I tentatively said that I had heard it declared a very respectable sort of place (though I did not say by whom), and they assured me, they meant no disrespect towards me. They were simply disappointed to hear that a _refined young man_ such as myself would be forced to reside at such a place. The compliment naturally made me blush, which they appeared to find all the more charming.

“One more word of advice, my dear,” said Betia, as she led me out. “Before you submit to these other journals, I suggest you procure a copy of each—several, if you can afford it—and peruse their contents. Editors like to know that potential authors are familiar with what they like to publish, you see. Particularly editors of popular publications like _The Red Rose_.”

Mention of that particular journal naturally made me blush again, but I thanked her nonetheless. It was wonderful advice, and anything that could help advance my efforts was more than welcome.

However, _advice_ and _consideration_ wouldn’t pay for my room and board at the Skeever. The sisters understandably wished not to make a decision about me and my work until next week, but that meant I wouldn’t be _paid_ until next week—if then. And now I was to purchase and read through the other journals first before even attempting to submit anything further. I sighed, pausing to stuff my now useless newspaper with all the little circled addresses back inside my satchel. Time to find a bookstore, apparently.

It took me another hour of wandering before I did, and even then, I couldn’t find all the journals on my list. I realized I would probably have to narrow my focus—romance, mystery, adventure—I couldn’t simply write whatever came into my head and submit it all to every journal currently in circulation. I was already somewhat committed to working with Ullia and Betia, but for everything else, I thought it best to stick with romance. It was, after all, what I most enjoyed writing.

I purchased several issues of three different journals: _The Red Rose_ , _The Juniper_ , and _Petal and Hummingbird._ The flower imagery seemed an interesting coincidence until I paused to think about each title. I tried to keep my head down as I paid for my stack of what appeared to be verging on erotica, for it was one thing to write such stories yourself and share them only with your supportive mothers (who were only too eager to help you come up with new euphemisms for various body parts). It was quite another to have others think you actively enjoyed _reading_ such stories.

“That’ll keep you busy for a while, eh, lad?” chortled the old man who took my money.

I stuffed the journals into my satchel before hurrying out of the store as swiftly as I could.

By now it was close to noon, so I decided to buy myself a light lunch. I bought a couple of small meat pies from one of the vendors near the bookstore, but I didn’t want to have to walk and eat, and certainly didn’t wish to return to the inn. So I wandered uptown, thinking to find a pleasant view of the sea from above, as I had yesterday, only this time preferably not on private property.

I felt certain there would be a public park or two, but most of the green spaces I encountered were encased within stone walls or wrought-iron fences. I began to give it up as impossible, until I noticed a little path between two great houses that appeared to lead directly to the city wall.

I followed it, half-certain some servant might stick their head out of a window and accuse me of trespassing. Behind each house was a little terrace; these weren’t fenced off, but it seemed clear to me they were considered private property. I continued walking along the edge of the large stone wall that encircled the entire city; I could hear the crash of the waves far below, but the wall was too high here for me to see over it.

Eventually, the space opened up around me. There were trees, bushes, benches—and, here and there, people, all of them finely dressed and meandering about together. I kept my distance, not wanting to attract the eye of anyone who might decide that I wasn’t meant to be here. It wasn’t as if I intended to cause any harm. I just wanted a nice place to eat my lunch in peace.

I found it, finally: an area just behind a large tree. The wall was low enough for me to not only look over it but actually climb on top of it and sit down. I faced the ocean, letting my feet dangle over the sides, the wind pushing the hair back from my face as I silently ate my meat pies. The call of the seabirds reminded me of my journey here—how eager I had been to prove myself, to prove to myself and to my parents that my years of practice would finally bear fruit.

Strangely enough—at least in that moment—I felt almost light-hearted. Yes, my situation was precarious. But there was something thrilling about being on my own for the first time in my life, in a foreign city at that. And I wasn’t totally lost—I had a plan. If it didn’t work out, I could always return home. Yet I found myself desperately hoping that it _would_ work out. Not so that I might be bathed in accolades and heralded a great writer (a rather horrifying prospect, to be perfectly honest), but that I might truly be able to support myself without having to rely on other people.

“Hello,” said a voice from behind me.

Startled, I glanced over my shoulder, but in doing so dropped my second meat pie. I made a fruitless attempt to grab it, only the movement nearly made me lose my balance—not a good idea, considering I was perched on a wall which loomed several hundred feet over the ocean below.

Before I knew it, I had another pair of arms around me, steadying me—one hand grasped me firmly by the upper arm, the other by the waist. I took a moment to breathe, my heart pounding behind my ribs. It would have been an awfully long way down.

“I’m so sorry,” said my rescuer, and he did indeed sound rather aggrieved. “That’s twice I’ve startled you now.”

When I turned to look at him, my eyes widened: it was the man from the well!

He released me, almost as though he’d forgotten he’d been holding on to me in the first place—as if there were something improper about saving someone from nearly plummeting to his death. Seeing his face up close and in daylight now—I found I had been wrong to think him not handsome. Perhaps it was only that I was not used to Nord men. They had such large features and heavy beards. But just as they had been last night, his eyes were kind, his expression that of someone anxious to please.

“May I?” he asked, stepping back and indicating the wall where I still sat.

I nodded, and, after taking a moment to seemingly gather his thoughts, he sat down carefully beside me—though he kept some distance between us, and I still faced the sea, while he faced the gardens.

“I shouldn’t have come upon you so suddenly.” he said. “Only I wasn’t sure it could really be you.”

I didn’t know what else to say to that, though I could feel myself blushing, for whatever reason. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and turned to gaze out at the sea.

“You do not have your instrument,” he said, after a brief silence fell between us.

I shook my head.

“…I left it,” I said, doing my very best to ignore the way my heart was hammering away in my chest. “At the inn.”

“Ah.”

Silence again, then:

“May I ask—though I suppose it isn’t my place to enquire into your business—but I confess myself surprised to find you here, of all places.”

Startled, I turned to face him again.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No!” he said, clearly shocked that I should think as much. “No—I apologize; I didn’t mean to imply that you were. Only—these are the palace gardens, you see. And as you are a visitor to our city, I am reasonably certain that you are not a member of any of the great families here.”

I blinked. So I had unwittingly trespassed yet again. Yet this was quite far from where I had been stopped by the guard last time. Did the palace gardens extend to such a distance? What need had anyone for so much land if they had no intention to either farm it or share it with others?

Though I supposed, judging from the presence of those currently occupying the park, it was not closed off to _every_ body.

I swallowed, wondering how I should answer the question he had posed to me.

“I was…”

Lonely? The thought struck me that I _had_ been lonely, and that if I could just found a nice, quiet green space to enjoy my lunch, it wouldn’t have felt so different from home. The realization made me feel quite foolish.

“…curious,” I finished lamely.

“Curious?” he asked, smiling ever so slightly. “Was there not enough in Solitude to tempt you that you felt you had to come here? Though I suppose it’s a fine enough space if you aren’t required to speak to any of those who frequent it.”

“Like you?” I couldn’t help asking, feeling a smile come to my own face.

He laughed, the sound low and gentle.

“Does my company bother you so?” he asked, though I could tell he was teasing.

“…No,” I said, and for some reason I felt I should look away from him again, and return to gazing out at the sea.

Silence fell between us yet again, yet it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. There was a part of me that liked knowing he was still there, sitting so close beside me. I had the sudden wild urge to show him the journals I had purchased, so that we might be able to laugh at them together, the way my mothers and I used to laugh at my tumultuous love scenes. But I supposed that would be rather inappropriate.

He cleared his throat, causing me to look back at him.

“Did you have plans to stay here much longer?”

“Here?” I asked, not understanding at first.

“In Solitude, I mean. Do you not plan to return to your village in High Rock?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer, for the answer itself was so complicated. I wanted to return home—and yet, I didn’t.

“…No,” I said after a while, letting the word linger on my tongue. “I don’t think so.”

When I felt his hand come to rest gently, almost tentatively over my own, I turned to look at him, startled.

“Forgive me,” he said. “But if you are in distress—if you are in need of assistance, of any sort, please, tell me. I will do all that I can to help you—discreetly, if necessary.”

I couldn’t imagine what sort of assistance he thought I might need. Nevertheless, his offer quite overwhelmed me. Plus, there was the added fact that his hand was now touching mine.

“…I’m fine,” I said, though it took me more than one attempt to get the words out. “…Thank you.”

He smiled, his hand briefly squeezing mine before releasing it.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But even if the situation does not feel so dire, my offer still stands: if I can help in any way, you have only to ask.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

I noticed someone approaching us, though it was clear he was making for my companion and not me. He was dressed rather finely, but there was something about him that marked him as different from the others. His tunic was more plain, perhaps, and he wore no rings or any other kind of jewelry. He was unarmed, too.

“My lord,” he said, bowing to the man beside me. “The Free-Hand representatives are here. They await you in the council room.”

“Thank you, Soren.”

The man bowed again before turning to go.

“I’m afraid I must leave you,” said my companion. “Please know that you are welcome to return—that is, if you should like to return. I shall make certain that you are known and will be treated as a guest here.”

I gazed up at him as he stood, and couldn’t for the life of me think of anything to say in response.

“If anything,” he continued, smiling a little, “You might allow me to repay you for causing you to lose your lunch.”

“Oh,” I said, “No, it was nothing. I’d already eaten the other one, anyway.”

His mouth twitched at the corners, his smile growing.

“I see. Then I suppose I must bid you good day, for now.”

He gave me a little nod then turned to follow what I could only presume must have been a servant of some kind, even despite how splendidly he had been dressed. But then it suddenly occurred to me—if I could save myself the headache of having to approach another guard again—

“Wait!” I said, getting hastily to my feet.

He turned to face me again.

“…Do you know where I might find an apothecary’s?”

Suddenly, his expression became anxious, and he made his way back to me.

“Are you unwell?” he asked. He even moved to rest a hand gently on my arm; I tried very much to act as if I scarcely noticed, for I didn’t want him to remove it.

“No,” I said. “I mean… no. Only, there’s a tea the healer says I must drink each night. I have the ingredients list, but I don’t know where the apothecary’s is.”

“I see.” He frowned, and clearly began to think, but all _I_ could really think about was how his hand had fallen to his side again. “If I recall correctly, there is one not far from the inn where you’re staying. Should you continue past, just behind it there is another road that should lead you to the apothecary’s. It’s a little off the beaten path, so…” He gave me an anxious look. “Promise me you will only go by day. We do our best to keep the city safe, but one can never be too certain.”

“I promise,” I said. “And thank you.”

He nodded, flashed me one more faint smile, then turned to leave again. This time, I watched him go, waiting until he disappeared completely from view before finally turning and making my own way out of the garden, back the way I had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to take bets on whether or not Laurie realizes the nice man at the well seems to have a crush on him. 👀


	5. Chapter 5

I felt flustered and dazed as I made my way back the way I had come, slipping between the two fine houses before finding the main road once again. Several times I touched my cheek with the back of one hand, as if to tell whether it wasn’t still red—as red as the hair and beard of the man who had now twice shown me such kindness.

He was clearly nobility. Or perhaps a high-ranking general, considering the salutes the guards at the city gates had offered him. Why such a great man would speak so courteously to me was a mystery. He knew what I was, after all—where I had come from. I couldn’t speak in the ways of great people, nor did I act or dress the way they all seemed to. True, my clothing was clean and well-cut; my mother sewed all of our clothing, and she liked to buy fine, pretty fabrics, though I did insist that she spare me the more lurid patterns and colors. Were my mannerisms in any way even _remotely_ eloquent? I couldn’t imagine so. I had been raised on a farm—literally. I woke up at dawn to milk cows and goats and collect eggs from chickens; I ate cheese and bread and cold meat for lunch; if I were lucky, there was meat in the stew at night. My neighbors were farmers, too; in the village, I rubbed shoulders with blacksmiths, shopkeepers, and cartwrights.

I sighed and decided to put it all out of my head, at least for now. Maybe it was quite natural for great men to touch the hands of displaced farm boys and express such concern for their welfare.

Perhaps he was only being kind—probably because he felt sorry for me.

I supposed it was probably high time I returned to my room at the inn. I needed to read my new journals, and decide anew which pieces I’d written—if any—would be appropriate for submission. My feet were awfully tired by the time I made it back. I also paid for another night since it seemed unlikely I’d find better accommodations anytime soon. I was lucky enough to deal with the innkeeper’s son, Sorex; he even offered to post my letter for me. I thought it very kind of him.

I heaved a heavy sigh as I sat down on the cold floor of my room. It was hardly an environment ripe for inspiration and creativity, but it would have to do. I dared not go downstairs and risk running into Karita again. In fact, I really ought to have arranged with Sorex to have my dinner sent up here.

I began with _The Red Rose_. The covers for each edition were all in hues of scarlet and gold, and the title of the journal was written in elegant script. I read one story from each edition; only one was a stand-alone story. In it, a young noblewoman had a passionate encounter with a thief she discovered in her bedroom. What stood out the most to me was how little effort was made to ground the story in any _real_ location, fantasy or otherwise. The descriptions of her dress, her clothing, the palace where she lived—it was all quite generic. Quite a bit of attention, however, was paid to the handsome visage of the thief, and the strength she could feel in his arms as he grasped her and held her to him.

The other two were chaptered works from serials—one appeared to be about the romantic exploits of a mother and daughter, and the other followed the adventures of a dashing highwaywoman. The mother and daughter one was the more interesting one, though in fairness I was only reading one chapter from an entire series. That one contained no real romantic content; it seemed to be at present more focused on political intrigue. The highwaywoman story was fun, but seemed light on substance.

I also, privately, thought my love scenes were far better written.

Of course I’d had my mothers’ help with that sort of thing. Both had been with men before being with one another, though only one had said she’d really cared for it. They helped me not only accurately depict a woman’s passion, but to add feeling and intimacy to these encounters—emotions, fears, anticipation, desire. I supposed I should have felt awkward discussing such things with them, but they had never hidden that sort of talk from me. Sex wasn’t something to be ashamed of, and neither was love and romance.

I wouldn’t have minded just the _tiniest_ bit of real life experience of my own to draw inspiration from, but I supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

 _Juniper_ … well, the name rather said it all. _This_ journal was focused entirely on the romantic encounters of men with other men. Some were rather… lurid. Others were a little more to my own taste. Well, I don’t mean I didn’t enjoy the lurid ones, though perhaps ‘enjoy’ wasn’t quite the right word for it. But I certainly didn’t write like that. I had never really thought to describe the size of anyone’s… well. In any case, it seemed a few of my stories might do for the _Juniper_ , but I thought I might check and ask if Francis might be accepted alongside his sister Francesca at _The Red Rose_. Their stories were fairly entwined, after all.

By then my eyes and brain were a little tired, and I didn’t think I could handle any further elaborate descriptions of body parts and couplings for the rest of the afternoon, so I decided to head downstairs and inquire about my dinner. The single meat pie I’d had earlier could apparently only last me so long.

I suppose it was thinking about that second, ill-fated meat pie that caused me to pause halfway down the stairs and recall the end of my conversation with the man in the gardens. I had asked him for directions to an apothecary, and, lo and behold, there apparently happened to be one very near the Winking Skeever.

Dinner could wait, I decided. The sooner I put in my order for the tea, the better, for there was always the possibility that the apothecary wouldn’t have all the ingredients on hand. They would certainly need time to mix everything together and package it in little satchels. I sighed, tapping my fingers irritably against the bannister as I resumed my trek downstairs, only now I made for the front door instead of the bar. My newfound independence was off to a rather rocky start—I wouldn’t get very far in life if I couldn’t even remember to see to my own basic needs.

The sun was starting to sink behind the mountains to the west as I stepped outside and made my way past the tavern. The first intersection I encountered, I was to turn right, so I did. The street was not particularly full; I supposed it was the hour for people to be at home eating their dinners or enjoying a few hours of relaxation after a hard day’s work. I studied the shop signs carefully as I walked past them, looking for the telltale mortar and pestle that often indicated an apothecary’s shop. I passed a blacksmith’s forge, several clothiers, peddlers, leatherers… interestingly, most of the shops seemed built around basic wants and needs. I saw no bookshops, for instance, or specialty soaps and oils, jewelry, or toy shops. It made for quite a different atmosphere than the main streets I had mostly stuck to thus far.

Finally, I found it. _Hummel’s Medicinal Teas and Tinctures._ A little bell tinkled over the top of the door as I entered the shop. The smell of dried herbs and powders immediately assaulted my senses. The apothecary’s back home wasn’t nearly so overwhelming, but it was also half this size, and the couple who ran it always kept the windows open, especially during spring and summer.

I hovered rather awkwardly near the door, for the shop was completely empty, and I couldn’t help belatedly wondering if it were already closed. But if it were, the door would surely have been locked.

Just then, a burly, balding man emerged from the back behind the counter.

“Help you?” he asked, moving to swipe a damp rag over the top of the counter. “I’m about to close, so hope you know what you’re looking for.”

“…Yes,” I said, only stuttering a little over the word as I hurried forward, one hand fumbling in my pocket for the ingredients list. I handed it to him wordlessly, and he gave me a narrow-eyed look before taking it from me and reading it.

“Aye, I should have all of these,” he said. “How much?”

I never understood why it happened—but anxiety hit me like a brick to the chest, and suddenly I couldn’t quite find the words to say what I needed and why. Did I explain my condition? Would he know how to properly prepare the mixture? I never had to explain these things to the couple back home.

“Hold on a minute,” he said, frowning down at the list in his hand again. “Blisterwort, elderberry, cammen leaf… something wrong with your heart, lad?”

When his eyes met mine, all I could do was nod.

He nodded back, his expression turning thoughtful.

“You’ll be wanting these for a tea every night, is that it? What’ll you take, say, a month’s worth at a time?”

“Yes,” I said, breathless relief washing over me.

A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you need any tonight? It’ll take me a few hours to put it all together for you, but I can mix you something up right quick if you need it.”

“No,” I said, flushing at his kindness—I don’t know why I found the sudden kindness of strangers so overwhelming. “I have some for tonight.”

“All right, then. Order this large, I generally ask for half up front.”

He calculated the price, and while it was a little more than I was used to paying back home, it wasn’t unreasonable. I handed him the coins, and he told me to return tomorrow sometime after noon. He should have everything ready for me then.

“Thank you,” I said, almost giddy with relief now as I folded the list back up and slipped it in my pocket.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome lad once you’ve a smile on your face,” he said. “Mind yourself on your way back home if you’re alone. This part of town can get a bit rough at night.”

Of course, that was just what the man in the gardens had said, only I had neglected to recall it until now. I thanked him again and made my way back out into the street—and how swiftly the sun seemed to fall when the mountains were to the west, for all the blue had disappeared from the sky even in that brief span of time.

The street was narrower than the others I had traversed in the city, the buildings seeming to loom over me in the growing darkness. Of course, that made sense; it was the same in Farrun, from what I could recall (though we didn’t often have need to venture from the main thoroughfares). One thing I noticed that was different here than in Farrun was the lack of carriages. People rode horses are used them to pull their carts, and occasionally friends, family members, or employees might ride in the back of the wagon or cart, but nothing beyond that. There were no cabs for hire, for instance, and roads like this one would have been too narrow for one anyway.

I didn’t pass many people as I made my way back to the inn. Most shops were now closed, and those individuals I did pass gave me less than friendly looks. I began to walk just a little bit faster.

I soon became aware, however, of a small group which had been loitering in an alley who ceased their chatter as I passed and broke away to follow me. At first I thought it must be my imagination, for I couldn’t imagine why a group of strangers would want to follow _me_. Then I recalled the two warnings I’d received about walking through this part of the city after dark.

I picked up my pace just a little bit more.

I was probably somewhat obvious with how often I looked back over my shoulder. Their expressions remained unchanged. They seemed empty, devoid of all personality, yet somehow menacing with intent. I was not a fighter, and had no friends in the city, so I wasn’t quite sure what to do. My hands began to shake (and not just from hunger, as they sometimes do), and my heart began to flutter in my chest. I decided to take a detour, hoping I could lose them down a darkened side street.

No luck. Again and again, I chose streets at random, but not only did I not lose my pursuers, they appeared to be gaining on me. Finally, I made the mistake of turning down a street that literally ended in a stone wall—the city wall, I guessed, though it seemed to cling to the very side of the mountain.

I stopped abruptly, my heart now rattling wildly behind my ribs. I looked around, possibly for a place to hide, but it was too late—I felt a hand fall heavily on my shoulder from behind, fingers gripping me hard.

The one who had hold of me spun me around so that I faced him and the others. I couldn’t tell how many there were in the evening gloom. They smelled terribly.

“See,” said one, “told you it was a lad.”

“Can’t always tell with these fucking elves,” grumbled another.

“Empty your pockets,” said the one who had hold of me. “You pull a weapon and I’ll break your neck.”

But I couldn’t do it. I felt too paralyzed to move; I could scarcely understand the words that were coming out of his mouth. I opened my own mouth to speak, but I couldn’t seem to get anything to come out.

The man’s grip on my shoulder intensified.

“What’s the matter, elf?” he asked. “Those pointy ears of yours not working? I told you to empty your fucking pockets.”

“Maybe this’ll help him understand,” said another man.

He pushed forward, grabbing me by the other shoulder and wrenching me from the first man’s grasp. Then he shoved me backwards, so that I stumbled and hit the back of the nearest building.

It’s very hard for me to remember what happened afterward. I remember the pain in my shoulder, for I’d also struck it against the stone wall behind me. I remember thinking they were going to hurt me, and that if I could just get my mind to work, I could pull out all my money and save myself. And then I remember thinking I was going to die, for one of the men had finally pulled out a knife.

I thought of my mothers, whom I would never see again, and how sad they would be when they learned that the awful letter I had written would be the last time they would ever hear from me.

“HEY!”

The loud voice startled me; when all the men turned to stare at the figure now standing in the mouth of the alley, I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to slide further back into the shadows.

“What’s going on here?” asked the newcomer.

“None of your business,” said one of the men, but then the newcomer began to advance. This seemed to surprise my assailants, for I don’t think they’d expected to be confronted.

“You’ll back off if you know what’s good for you,” said the one with the knife, and he brandished it, as though to prove that he was willing to use it.

“I could say the same to you,” said the newcomer. Then he surprised us all by drawing the sword at his side and falling back into a defensive stance—a fighter’s stance. I recognized it, for one of my mothers had once been a soldier.

“You’d kill us over a fucking elf?” asked one of the men. “Traitor to your race.”

“Maybe he wants the elf for himself,” said another.

The others all laughed.

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” said the newcomer. “But I will if I have to.”

The laugher all died, and for a moment, the men all just stood there. Then the one with the knife yelled some sort of obscenity and charged.

It happened very quickly—so quickly I could scarcely follow it. The swordsman drew back at the last minute, slapped the flat of his blade against the arm of his assailant, causing him to drop his knife, then stepped forward again to kick the legs out from his opponent. The man then fell heavily to the ground.

The swordsman pointed his blade down at the downed man’s throat for a second, then moved to kick the knife away, further up the alley. Then he turned to face the rest.

“Who’s next?” he asked. “I have to give fair warning: if you come at me all at once, it’ll be awfully hard not to kill at least one of you.”

Finally, the man who’d grabbed me first made a growling noise before turning to spit.

“Hope he’s fucking worth it,” he said. Then he jerked his head towards his fellows. “Come on.”

The swordsman stepped graciously aside so they could pass, one of them pausing to help his downed compatriot back up onto his feet. Once they were all gone, the man sheathed his blade then turned to me.

“It’s all right,” he said, for I’d shrunk away again at his approach. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

But then my legs couldn’t seem to hold me up anymore, and I sank down to my heels with a faint whimper. I kept my arms wrapped tightly around myself, and I suppose all I could think about was what the others had implied—that this man had ‘saved’ me because he had a _use_ for me.

To my surprise, he lowered himself down before me, until his face was level with my own.

“Hello,” he said. “My name’s Jon. What’s your name?”

I tried to open my mouth and speak, but my voice just wouldn’t cooperate. I was also trembling, and now feeling very faint—past experience had taught me that this was not a good thing.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

This I could answer with a swift shake of my head, though my shoulder was admittedly still quite sore.

“May I help you up?” he asked.

He extended his hand to me; I stared at it for a long while before finally reaching out and taking it. His fingers closed gently around mine. I saw he had a wedding ring, and for some strange reason, that helped me to relax.

He stood up, and I stood up with him.

“Where do you live?” he asked. “I can escort you back to your home.”

“The…” I closed my eyes and tried vainly to get my trembling under control. “The tavern…”

He frowned.

“The tavern? Which one? I can think of several nearby, though I have to hope you aren’t staying at any of those.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried several times to say the word _winking_ , but could scarcely get the first syllable out.

Fortunately, my rescuer caught on pretty quickly.

“The Winking Skeever?” When I nodded, his eyes lit up with pleasure. “What a happy coincidence! I was just heading there myself! Well, what I mean is, I go there from time to…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. May I walk back with you?”

I nodded, and once I’d managed to catch my breath properly, I began to walk alongside him.

“Would you like to hold on to my arm?” he asked.

I hesitated—it was such a strange yet kind offer—before nodding, but this only made him beam, as if it gave him great happiness to be of further assistance to me. It lightened my heart a little, and I felt a little easier now as I wrapped my hands around one of his arms. It was, I had to admit, a very nice arm. I reminded myself that he was married.

I thought of walking like this with the man from the gardens, and it helped some of my anxiety lessen, even if just a little bit.

“Do you feel well enough to tell me your name?” my companion asked after we’d been walking in silence for some time.

“…Laurie,” I managed.

I thought of releasing his arm, but the thought made me shudder, so I didn’t. He seemed to feel it, and reached over with his other hand to pat both of mine.

“Nice to meet you, Laurie. Did I say I was Jon?” He laughed, a bit sheepishly. “I think I did. Not long now, I don’t think. I don’t come this way very often.”

The back of the Skeever came blessedly into view rather sooner than I’d expected it. It felt as if a burden were abruptly lifted from my shoulders, and I couldn’t help giving a silent huff at the thought of such a place bringing me such relief.

The inn was crowded, but that was to be expected. A few people called out to Jon, but he waved them away. We passed Karita, who was singing by the fireplace again; her eyes went wide when she saw me. I looked away, either because I was ashamed of avoiding her earlier or on account of what had just happened. Perhaps both.

Jon led me upstairs. Since he had indicated that he had been on his way here anyway, I expected him to lead me to his room, or perhaps to ask me where mine was. But he didn’t.

We came to the hallway that led to the regular rooms, but when I indicated that my room lay in that direction, Jon frowned. Instead, he led me to one of the miniature sitting areas situated between four so-called deluxe rooms. This was actually on a balcony facing the common room below, so it was still a bit loud.

Jon pulled a key from his pocket and proceeded to open one of the doors. I honestly thought it was his own room—he was rather finely dressed, now that I could see him properly, and I didn’t think your average farmer or blacksmith could wield a sword so expertly, no matter how much he professed his own ineptitude—but I knew immediately that that definitely wasn’t the case.

Not that a man can’t have a room with pretty pink and yellow bedcoverings, fluffy white rugs covering the floor, and frilly curtains on the windowsill. It’s just that, from what little I currently knew of him, Jon didn’t quite seem like the type.

“This is my friend Karita’s room,” he said. “She won’t mind us using it.”

“You know Karita?” I asked, blinking.

He gave a rueful little laugh.

“Let me guess: she latched on to you, too, didn’t she? She has a kind heart. And she was the only one to treat me like… well, like a normal person, I guess you might say.”

This was rather mystifying, for he certainly seemed quite normal to me. Well, perhaps there wasn’t anything _normal_ about how easily he’d defeated that knife-wielding thug, but perhaps I was wrong. I’d been told that most Nords were very proficient with combat—that they were all given little wooden swords by the time they were five, so that they could practice becoming the warriors they were all destined to be.

“I have an idea,” said Jon. “I have a friend who once confessed to me that nothing helped him relax more than a nice, long, hot bath. Sound like something you might be interested in?”

I couldn’t help perking up at this. I hadn’t had a proper bath since I’d left High Rock.

Jon quirked a smile, for my eagerness must have shown on my face.

“I’ll wait downstairs for you then. Take your time. Just wave at me when you see me.” But he blushed suddenly, as though he’d forgotten something. “Of course, if you’d rather be alone, after everything you’ve been through—

“No,” I said quickly—too quickly, probably. “Would you mind if… could you…”

The warm smile returned to his face.

“I can wait just outside, if you prefer? I can hear the singing from the balcony, and the servers will still bring me dinner if I wave them over. I can order you something, too, if you like?”

I nodded, for I was now quite hungry.

He beamed.

“Great! All right, see you soon. I’m sure Karita will join us. She saw us come in, and she won’t be able to resist finding out what happened.”

“…That’s all right,” I said, though I winced at the thought of having to recount being cornered by those men.

Jon smiled and nodded and made his way back out of the room, closing the door behind him. The room itself was spacious and airy—the complete opposite of my own. It had a lived in quality to it; the curtains on the window were the same pink and yellow as the bedspread, after all, and I didn’t imagine they had come with the room. There were plants on the window sill, a lovely blanket over the bed, clothes tossed here and there, even a looking glass hung on one of the walls. Either someone else had lived here previously and left quite a few of their belongs, or else Karita had arrived in Solitude a lot longer ago than I’d realized. I supposed if she had such a strong friendship with Jon then that must be the case.

The bath was by the fireplace; the water spigot even came out of the wall. I’d heard that not all places in Skyrim had running water, let alone heated water, but it looked like some of the rooms here were the exception. I wasn’t generally one for long, hot baths, but after the day I’d had, I could definitely use it. Even so, I tried to be as quick as I could in shucking off my clothing and stepping into the warm water after it had been poured. I didn’t like the thought of keeping Jon waiting, and there was something embarrassing about being naked in the room of someone I barely knew.

Not that Karita seemed the type to mind. I sighed, and quickly leaned back to douse and scrub through my hair. This was probably the last time I’d get to enjoy a hot bath for a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More parallels! But we can't expect sweet Laurie to save himself 😊 Now the real question is, how many of you thought that was Falk at the end, and how disappointed are you that it's Jon Battle-Born? 😋


	6. Chapter 6

The only disappointing thing about finally getting to take a bath was having to pull my dirty things back on afterward. But Jon—or rather, his ‘friend’—had been right. My heart had finally settled in my chest, and I no longer felt myself flinching every time I thought about what had happened to me.

I opened the door hesitantly, poking my head out, and was relieved to see Jon sitting near the balcony, as promised. He looked up when he heard me and smiled, sitting up a bit.

“Feeling better?” he asked, indicating that I should take the seat opposite him, where a bowl of stew and a glass of beer awaited me.

I nodded and, after hesitating—though I’m not sure why—reached for the piece of bread that had been lain over the bowl of stew. It was surprisingly still warm, so I supposed it must have just arrived. Jon’s own bowl was wiped clean, and I couldn’t help smiling a little. It was rather endearing—I wondered if he’d even licked the sides like a child, seeing as how no one could really see us up here.

I was about to bring the bread to my mouth when I paused, realizing something.

“…Thank you,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his.

It was long overdue. Simply stepping in and rescuing me from those thugs would have been more than enough, but he’d gone above and beyond simple kindness. Not only had he made sure I returned to safety, but he’d gone out of his way to help me relax again and had even ordered me dinner.

Somehow I wasn’t surprised to see him blush. I again couldn’t help reflecting on how endearing he was—it was a shame he was married. I very nearly laughed at the silly thought, and had to press my lips together.

“Think nothing of it!” he said. “It was the least I could do. And you’re sure you weren’t injured?”

I shook my head. My shoulder no longer hurt, though I imagined there’d be a bruise there tomorrow. But it wasn’t anything worth mentioning.

I thought for a second, chewing the piece of bread slowly.

“Would you really have killed those men?” I asked, after I’d swallowed.

“Not on purpose, no. But I meant what I said. I’m not the most skilled of fighters. I certainly would have _tried_ not to mortally injure any of them, but I just as easily might’ve slipped or faltered.”

I nodded thoughtfully, for that made sense.

“You seem a great fighter to me,” I said after a moment. “You were like a hero in a story.”

“You make me sound very dashing,” he said, laughing and coloring again. “But truly, I was never fond of sword-fighting. I mostly neglected it as a boy, for I was far too interested in poetry and music. I guess I always preferred _reading_ about fighting than practicing the art myself. My wife is the far superior fighter, and has probably taught me nearly everything I know.”

“She sounds like one of my mothers,” I said. “She was a soldier. She wanted me to learn, but I didn’t wish to.”

“Surely you didn’t have your head buried in a book like I did. You seem far too sensible for that.”

I felt my lips twitch.

“I’ve always liked reading, but I liked writing my own stories even more. And I never liked the feel of a sword in my hands. It didn’t feel right.”

“You’re a writer!”

This seemed to excite him, for he now leaned forward, his blue eyes bright. I thought his wife must be very lucky, for he was very handsome just then. He also didn’t keep his beard so heavy as many other Nord men I’d seen, and the effect was very flattering.

“I try,” I said, smiling and lowering my eyes to my stew again.

“Don’t be bashful! We artists must stick together!”

“I’m hardly an artist,” I said, laughing a little, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded. Before long, he had gotten it all out of me: how I had plans to sell my work to various publications about town, how I’d spent all day familiarizing myself with the process. He asked me what I liked to write most, and when I admitted I was fond of romance, he begged me to tell him a little about the stories I was working on, so I did—though I tried not to go into _too_ much detail about the twins’ exploits.

He also managed to get me to reveal that I was not a native—that I was in fact from High Rock and had only been here in Solitude for two days now.

“And you came all the way to Skyrim to do this?” he asked. “To publish your stories?”

“…No,” I admitted.

I’d somehow known this was going to come up. But it wasn’t something I could really hide, not unless I decided to start purposefully misleading people.

I took a deep breath.

“I came for the college,” I said. “For the audition. Only I…”

“Not everyone gets in,” said Jon, when I failed to finish the thought. “There’s no shame in it.”

I shook my head.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t even…”

I searched around in my head for words that might come, but none of them seemed to want to budge from the tip of my tongue. It was frustrating, and embarrassing, for it made me look even more the fool.

“It’s all right,” said Jon. “You don’t have to tell me. Really.”

I nodded, too humiliated to be grateful for his kindness. I wanted so very much to be better about talking—about myself, about my anxieties and my feelings—but it was something I had struggled with all my life. Now I couldn’t even fumble my way through a conversation with a stranger who had done everything he could to put me at ease. It was so desperately disheartening.

That was when I realized there was something unusual about the common room below. The crowd had somehow gotten even louder, to the point where it at times almost overpowered our own voices. Then, it hit me: Karita had stopped performing.

“Tell me EVERYTHING!” she said, rushing into the little sitting area so quickly I nearly felt my heart beat right out of my chest.

“Kyne’s Grace!” said Jon. “I’d just gotten him settled down!”

“Sorry!” she chirped, pulling up a chair at the table so that she was now sitting in between us. “But you’d still better tell me everything. What’s the story between you two? How did you meet? And why were you hanging onto him like he’d just shown you an amulet of Mara?”

“Karita!!” said Jon, sputtering. His whole face turned red then, and he seemed unable to meet my eyes.

“…What does that mean?” I asked. “An amulet of Mara?”

“It _means_ I’m asking if he’s going to have to write to Olfina and admit he’s thrown her over for a country boy from High Rock!”

This took me more than a few seconds to parse—Jon was too busy groaning and covering his red face with his hands to help, and Karita was doubled over with laughter.

“…Olfina’s your wife,” I said, smiling a little. It was a pretty name.

“ _Jarl_ Olfina,” said Karita, smirking, “of Whiterun Hold. Oh! Did he neglect to mention that bit?”

I blinked and stared at Jon. Even _I_ knew what a jarl was.

“…Your wife is a _queen_?!” I sputtered.

“Karitaaa…!” he groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.

Karita laughed—not that she was quite recovered from her _first_ bout of laughter.

“We don’t really use that term in Skyrim,” she told me. “Not unless they’re the high queen or king.”

I swallowed, still overcome by the realization that I’d been rescued by—well, in my country, he would be considered a _prince_.

“…Do the husbands of jarls often hang out in taverns?” I asked faintly.

Jon looked so embarrassed—and possibly like he was considering strangling Karita, though she didn’t seem to let this bother her in the slightest.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you sooner. But people always look at me differently once they know—well, what I am. Who I’m married to, at any rate.”

“…I’ll try not to,” I managed, though the very notion of me sitting at the same table as the Skyrim equivalent of a prince still left me breathless.

It helped that he was so friendly and kind, and that he had let me hold his arm while we walked, and had bought me a bowl of stew. Princes didn’t waste their time doing such nice things, did they? They probably hired people to do that for them.

“No need to look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Karita teased, “Trust me, Jon isn’t like most fancy folk; he comes here to get away from that sort. Don’t you, Jon?”

“The Blue Palace is very different from Dragonsreach,” he admitted. “And even _that_ felt strange at first. Before Olfina became jarl, I was no one, really. My family had more money than most, but the Battle-Borns are a pretty large family. I wasn’t even close to being the heir.”

“…The Blue Palace,” I said, doing my very best to _not_ think about sitting in a tavern with a prince (who had saved me from thugs, walked me home, and bought me dinner). “Isn’t that where the jarl of Solitude lives?”

“Sure is,” said Karita. “Used to be the seat of the High Queen, too, but not anymore.”

“Yes, let’s _not_ get into the civil war, _please_ ,” said Jon, a pained look on his face.

As I knew very little about the Skyrim civil war (for it hadn’t affected High Rock much at all), it was easy enough to oblige him. But I was still curious about the difference between a high queen and a jarl. We didn’t seem to have the equivalent of either in High Rock.

“So… a high queen or king is different from a regular queen or king?” I asked, before amending, quickly, “I mean jarl.”

“More like the jarls rule their holds, but the high queen—or high king—rules the jarls,” said Karita.

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” said Jon, frowning.

“The way you talk about your wife, I can’t imagine her bending the knee to anyone,” teased Karita.

Jon huffed.

“That’s not what I mean. The high queen or king may have the final say on matters relating to all of Skyrim, but they don’t tell the other jarls how to run their holds. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“Then… it’s more like High Rock,” I said, though couldn’t help thinking I would have felt just as breathless over eating dinner with the prince of Farrun as the husband of the jarl of Whiterun. “The provinces don’t have much to do with one another at all. At least not politically.”

“Aye,” said Jon. “At least that’s how it’s been for as long as anyone can remember. But now Jarl Ulfric has called a moot—something the high king is only supposed to do when one of the holds needs to appoint a new jarl. And it’s anyone’s guess as to why he’s doing it. Only—remember that friend I mentioned? The one who likes bathing? He just so happens to be Jarl Ulfric’s husband. And _I_ happen to know that this moot wasn’t Ulfric’s idea at all. It was Casien’s.”

“The little Dunmer!” said Karita. “So it’s true! He really does have the high king wrapped around his finger!”

Jon sighed again.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—that’s unfair to both. Yes, I do believe Ulfric would do anything Casien asked of him. But Ulfric is no fool. Even though the _idea_ for the moot was Casien’s, Ulfric wouldn’t have agreed to it unless he saw merit in it.”

“…But you don’t?” I said, for I could tell the subject made him rather anxious. “See merit in it, I mean.”

“It isn’t that. Casien’s very clever, maybe cleverer than his husband—which is saying a lot. I’m sure whatever reason they both have for doing this is sound. It’s just…” He frowned. “I’m still trying to recover from the _last_ moot. And it’s not like I know any more what I’m doing now than I did then.”

“Poor Jon,” said Karita. “You’re no politician—you’re just married to one.”

“Something like that,” he agreed, sighing once again.

“I saw a picture of him,” I said. “Jarl Ulfric. It was in the newspaper. He looked very…”

“Terrifying? Intimidating? Like he might rip your arms off if you spoke out of turn?”

“…Maybe,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“He’s all that and more. All I can say is, the Divines blessed us when they put Casien Yedlin on this earth, and that’s all there is to it, really. I’ve literally seen Casien stop Ulfric from murdering a man in cold blood, just because his husband told him not to.”

“Kind of romantic, isn’t it?” said Karita. “The idea of a man like Ulfric Stormcloak being so besotted?”

I couldn’t disagree with her, but it still brought forth the disturbing notion that if anything should happen to this ‘little Dunmer’—well, it seemed as if the entire country would be left to the whims of a grief-stricken madman.

I shook the thought from my head.

“But… if your wife is queen… why should _you_ have to worry about this moot?”

“Because Jarl Olfina isn’t coming to Solitude,” said Karita. “And she’s appointed Jon as her stand-in.”

“There was terrible flooding this spring in Whiterun Hold,” said Jon glumly. “Some of the roads and bridges are still damaged, and even if they weren’t—even if the way were passable, she said it wouldn’t be right for her to leave her people right now. A lot of the farmsteads are still in need of assistance and recovery.”

“Then… how did _you_ get here?” I asked, now thoroughly confused.

“Oh!” He laughed. “My apologies; no wonder you look so confused. I’ve actually been living in Solitude for nearly a year now. I came here to join the bard’s college, and I’ve been a student there since I auditioned last summer. Though Olfina thought it improper that I should live in the dormitory with the other students, so Jarl Falk has offered me rooms at the Blue Palace.”

“Oh to marry a man who’ll do whatever his wife tells him,” sighed Karita.

Jon shot her an aggrieved look.

“It isn’t like that! You’re giving Laurie the wrong impression.”

“…It’s fine,” I said weakly.

“I would gladly do whatever my wife bid me to do,” said Jon, even puffing up a bit as he said it. “I trust her judgment in all things, as she trusts mine. I regret not being able to stay at the college with the other students, but she’s right. Her position isn’t as strong as some of the other jarls. As her husband, I must be seen acting appropriately, or else I risk spreading gossip—or making her look weak, for the husband of a jarl should be treated with respect wherever he goes.”

“Just so you know,” said Karita, winking at me, “He’s to be addressed as ‘my lord’.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling myself color slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—

“KARITA,” said Jon, and she almost fell out of her chair from laughing so hard.

Eventually, Karita got out of both of us what she’d wanted to know in the first place—how we had met, and why I’d been half-clinging to Jon as we’d made our way through the common room. Telling intricate stories aloud was hardly my forte, so I gave Jon permission to explain what had happened, though I couldn’t help jumping in here and there.

“He was incredible,” I said, after Jon had brushed over his disarming of the thug who had rushed him with the knife. “It happened so quickly.”

“Not to steal any of Jon’s thunder,” said Karita, snorting, “but one man against four or five would-be muggers probably means those idiots were drunk.”

“I thought so, too,” said Jon, smiling a little. “But I guess I didn’t want to diminish the picture of me my new friend has been building up in his head.”

“…Mean,” I said, laughing and trying not to blush.

“What were you doing in that part of town anyway?” asked Karita. “That area’s ripe for thugs and pick-pockets even during daylight hours.”

I told them as best I could about my visit to the apothecary’s; they agreed that it was indeed the closest one, but a little walk shouldn’t have killed me, especially if it meant not getting mugged again. I reminded them that I was new in town and didn’t know the area, and had had to ask for directions.

“Well whoever told you to go there didn’t have your best interests at heart, I’ll tell you that much,” said Karita. “I could take one look at you and know you weren’t the type to defend yourself in a fight.”

“Was it someone from downstairs?” asked Jon, frowning. “I wonder if they weren’t in league with the men who attacked you.”

“…No!” I finally managed to say. I was so distressed that they could think anything ill of the man in the gardens that I could scarcely get the word out of my mouth.

“Hey…” said Jon, his voice gentle. Karita even put her hand on my shoulder in concern. “It’s okay. We didn’t mean anything by it.”

Karita gave my shoulder a little pat.

“We’re not saying you’re a fool or anything, only that it’s easy for the worst sorts of people to take advantage of those who don’t know any better.”

But I shook my head, too many words getting tangled up in my throat at once.

“Please don’t let our assumptions upset you,” said Jon, even getting up to come and sit down beside me, so that he could he rest his hand on my other shoulder. “We truly didn’t mean it.”

“Deep breaths,” said Karita, giving me another encouraging little pat.

I nodded, and closed my eyes, just so I could breathe in and try and steady my thoughts. It helped that they were both sitting so close beside me; normally, I didn’t like feeling so crowded, but it strangely enough reminded me of being comforted by my mothers. The silly thought almost made me smile. I took one more, steadying breath before opening my eyes again.

“…I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to get so upset. Only…”

They both looked at me, patiently waiting for me to continue.

“The man who gave me the directions—he was from uptown. Not here. I was eating lunch in the gardens, and we were talking. He was very kind. And he—he _did_ tell me not to go to the apothecary’s after dark. So it was my fault. Not his.”

“I suppose if he’s from uptown he wouldn’t know as much about the back streets of southern Solitude,” said Jon, frowning.

“He was very kind,” I repeated, feeling as though I needed to reiterate the man’s good intentions.

“Hmm,” said Karita, a slow smile coming to her face. “What did he look like? This very kind man.”

My face was already red, but I could feel it getting even warmer.

“What does that matter?” I asked.

“Oh,” said Jon, sitting back with slightly widened eyes. He and Karita exchanged what seemed to be an amused look.

“Now you’re both being mean,” I said, and I even covered my hot cheeks with my hands, as though that would help hide my embarrassment.

“Just tell us how you did it,” said Karita.

“…How I did what?” I asked.

“How did a shy thing like you manage to get a date on his second day in Solitude?”

“…It wasn’t a _DATE_!” I cried, covering my face again, but now they were both laughing too hard to even try to tease me further. I was terribly embarrassed; I almost had tears in my eyes, but it made me happy, too—for here I was, alone, lost, and frankly terrified, yet these two had somehow miraculously chosen to befriend me. Of course, I didn’t know then that we would become fast friends, though I suppose I might have had an inkling. After all, as Jon had said earlier, we artists had to stick together.

As to that—Karita eventually made sure to scold me for disappearing this morning after I’d promised to perform with her. When I reminded her that I’d promised no such thing, she only doubled down and made me promise to do so tomorrow morning instead.

“Suppose I sweeten the deal,” she said. “You promise to play with me in the mornings, and I’ll let you use my bathtub at night.”

“That’s cruel,” I said, for we both knew at that point that I would take the deal. The public bathing facilities here were downright hazardous to one’s health.

We ended up talking well into the night, over more than one round of beers. Jon had to leave eventually, for he had to return to the palace—coming here from time to time was one thing, but if he should stay overnight, the rumors were sure to crop up. And with the moot coming, he was going to have to try even harder than usual to act the part of jarl’s husband.

Karita and I stayed up only a little bit longer. I needed to drink my tea, and I didn’t want to become too drunk to prepare it properly. We said our good-byes, and, after she extracted one more promise from me to meet her tomorrow after breakfast, we went our separate ways.

I still had a lot of work ahead of me if I wanted to truly make it here in Solitude. But at least my thoughts were calm as I finally settled down for the night—though likely due in no small part to the amount of beer I had consumed.

Yet the company surely hadn’t hurt either. For someone who’d never really had a proper friend before, it was a novel feeling, and not one I was eager to relinquish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seems short... 🤔 Even though it actually isn't! Well, now we have our three amigos. When will Laurie see Falk again? Will he ever get to meet Casien? And why could Ulfric and Casien be calling this moot? (Plus in this chapter I learned Jon is low key afraid of Ulfric, which, 🤣 ... Fair.)


	7. Chapter 7

I slept fitfully that night. Once the effects of the beer wore off, I found myself constantly woken up by every pair of boots that walked past my locked door. My mind couldn’t help but return to the incident in the alley, and even with the aid of the tea, I could feel my heart beating too rapidly in my chest. I did my best to close my eyes and relax my body, counting to ten with each breath. Turning my mind, as I so often did, to my own stories and imagining the characters living out their little individual dramas also often helped, but this time it only made me anxious about my future prospects as a published writer.

Finally, I decided to stop avoiding the inevitable and dragged myself out of bed. It was early enough in the morning that the public washroom was nearly empty, so I forced myself to brush my teeth and shave as best I could. I was blessed with the inability to grow much in the way of facial hair, and though my mothers used to try and reassure me when I was a teenager that my beard would grow in eventually, I was always relieved when it never really did. It was tedious enough dealing with what I had.

At least the after shave temporarily masked the prevailing washroom odor.

I made my way downstairs, bringing my work with me. I still needed to read through the rest of the stories in the journals I’d bought, and I needed to once again plan which of my own stories I would try to submit. I also needed to consider future writing projects—Ullia and Betia had suggested I try to write an ‘animal story,’ so I supposed I should at least try my hand at it.

Just as I had yesterday, I made do with coffee for breakfast. I convinced myself that I could be more generous with how I spent my money once I started earning an income—and that was still a big ‘if.’ Of course, it was a different story altogether to try and convince my stomach to ignore the smells wafting in from the inn’s kitchen, but I did my best to ignore them.

I was on my second cup of coffee (yet still rubbing my eyes to try to keep myself from falling asleep as I tried to get through the most saccharine love story I’d ever read in my life) when my solitary efforts were finally interrupted.

“Good morning!”

Karita plopped down in the chair beside mine, her face surprisingly clean of make-up—I supposed now that she only bothered to make herself up before her evening performances, which showed how little I knew of such things. I tried to make a mental note of that so I could incorporate it into Francesca’s routine.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Already had breakfast?” She lifted a hand to flag down Sorex. “A night of drinking always leaves me starved. What’re you working on?”

I hesitated, for she had asked me two different questions all in one breath and I wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

“What is it?” she asked. “You look as though you’re trying to get the words out again and don’t know how.”

I looked at her, aggrieved, for how on earth was I supposed to answer that?

“The usual for me,” she said, once Sorex stopped by. “Maybe an extra slice of toast? And a sausage? Extra slice of toast and sausage.”

Sorex nodded before looking at me. “Still nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing!!” said Karita. “Are you on some kind of diet? You’re too skinny for that!”

“…No,” I said, trying to answer both her and Sorex at the same time. Then I just sighed and brought my elbows to the table so I could rest my face in my hands for a moment. Conversation was so exhausting.

“He didn’t order anything yesterday either,” said Sorex, and I reflected wryly on the fact that they could so easily continue talking as if I weren’t even there.

“What? Why not?”

“Well, considering he’s in one of the cheap rooms, I’d guess it’s a money thing?”

“Dibella’s mercy! Why didn’t you say so?”

As this was likely directed at me, I finally peeked out at her and shrugged.

“Well, extra plate for him,” she said. “I’ll take care of it this time. Oh, it’s nothing!” she continued, when I tried to protest. “I make a bundle in tips every night; why else do you think I’m still here?”

“Guess it’s not for the company,” said Sorex, and she laughed, but judging by the anxious way he was looking at her, I think there was a very small part of him that really meant it.

Afterward, she asked me again what I was working on, so I reluctantly showed her the story I’d been reading—being sure, of course, to tell her it was for research purposes. She surprised me by blushing profusely after only a few sentences before handing the journal back to me with a laugh.

“Divines take me, I didn’t realize folk actually wrote such things! And you went right into the bookshop and bought it, just like that?”

“…Yes,” I said, absolutely determined now to never let her read anything I wrote, ever.

“Goodness! It’s like actually being in the room with them!” Her eyes widened, and the flush to her cheeks spread a little bit more as she leaned forward, a wicked little smile coming to her face. “Don’t suppose you’d let me borrow that when you’re done with it?”

“…Of course,” I said, and I must’ve had an answering little smile on my face, for she leaned over and smacked me in the arm, making me laugh again.

“Do you always read this kind of stuff?” she asked, reaching for another journal.

“…No,” I said, and now I could feel my cheeks burning as well. “Not really.”

“Wait—” She paused in what she’d been about to say to flip the journal around and show me one of the illustrations for the story there, her eyes dramatically wide. I laughed weakly. “—Didn’t you say you were trying to be a writer? Are you telling me that you, sweet little Laurie, are into— _this_?”

She turned the journal around again, this time to display an illustration of a bare chested man standing dramatically in the window of what was probably the protagonist’s room.

“Yes,” I said without thinking, and I couldn’t help appreciating how they’d drawn all the little hairs on the man’s chest and arms.

Karita looked at me for a moment, then down at the illustration. Then she burst out laughing. I groaned and lowered my face into my hands once again.

The conversation naturally turned towards my own writing, and she begged me to let her look at some of it, but I told her I wasn’t quite ready yet to share it. This wasn’t entirely true—I was, after all, currently in the process of trying to decide which of my stories could be submitted and which required a bit more editing—but now I was entirely too embarrassed to let her read them, especially with me sitting right next to her.

“Tell you what,” she said, “you can let me read them once this—what’s it called again?—once this _Red Rose_ decides to print them. Sound like a deal?”

I smiled.

“Deal.”

Our breakfast was duly delivered, and I tried not to let on how hungry I was as I ate mine. Afterward, she insisted that I go back upstairs and get my lute— _think of the public washroom_ , she threatened. _Think of all those nasty men you’ll have to share it with_. Sighing, I got up and did as ordered.

“It’s beautiful!” she said, once I’d brought it downstairs and removed it from its case. “Where did you get it?”

“It was my grandmother’s.”

I sat down on the chair she’d pulled over near the fireplace, for I’d told her I certainly couldn’t play while standing.

“I thought you said you were adopted!”

“I still had a grandmother,” I said, trying not to let on how irritated the assumption made me—I knew she meant nothing by it. “One of my mother’s mothers. She’s passed away when I was very young, so I never knew her very well.”

“Oh! Of course! I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.” She came and pulled a chair up beside me. “What shall you play?”

I thought about that for a moment, then: “What song would you _like_ me to play?”

She laughed. “Oh, I can sing along to just about anything! Since we’re in a tavern, how about a drinking song? ‘Come Along, My Darling?’ Or ‘Take Me to The River Red’?”

I nodded and began to pluck the first few notes of ‘Come Along, My Darling.’ It was hardly a complicated tune, and wasn’t exactly a favorite of mine. But it was common enough that I could play it without really thinking about it, and so I did.

Then Karita began to sing.

Her voice was bright and joyous, the lyrics of the song dancing around the notes I plucked from the lute. I couldn’t help watching her as I played, and when she smiled, I found myself smiling back. After a moment, I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. It was one of my favorite things to do—in those moments, it felt like my fingers had a mind of their own, as if I could sit back and listen to the song without having to think about playing it. It was a very simple arrangement; Karita’s voice echoed the melody my fingers plucked from the strings. But it was still somehow wonderful.

I opened my eyes when the song finished—then gave a start at the scattered applause that greeted the conclusion of our performance. Sorex and Minette had paused in their work to watch us perform, and a handful of patrons who’d come down for a late breakfast had stopped to listen as well.

I felt my face slowly warming. Meanwhile, Karita beamed and gave a dramatic bow.

“Shall we do another?” she asked me. “Maybe ‘River Red’?”

I glanced out at the other patrons, who’d now returned to their breakfasts and conversations. Then I looked back at Karita and shook my head, _no_.

“Why not?” she asked. “Your playing is so lovely! Everyone seemed to—oh!” She made a little ‘eek’ face then, and leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “I forget how shy you are. That was horrible of me, wasn’t it? Hm.”

She seemed to pause then and think, her eyes wandering over the room. Then she brightened.

“I have an idea,” she continued, “Follow me.”

I returned to my table, glad to no longer be sitting at the front of the room, and gathered all of my reading and writing materials up, slipping them into my bag. The lute I replaced in its case, then I slung both over my shoulder before following Karita, who led me upstairs. When we came to the sitting area outside her room where she, Jon, and I had sat up drinking last night, she took a seat at the table we’d been sitting at and indicated that I should do the same.

“There,” she said, “no one can see us up here, but they can still hear us. What do you think?”

I glanced at her before leaning over slightly, craning my head over the balcony to gaze down at those below us in the common room. It was true. Unless I leaned over like this, no one from down there could possibly see us up here. I wouldn’t have to play with a dozen pairs of eyes all trained in my direction. I felt that old tense feeling, as if someone were squeezing me hard around the ribs, gradually leave my body.

I looked back at Karita and nodded. She beamed, and I couldn’t help smiling back.

We played and sang for a good hour together. At some point, she got up to retrieve her own lute, and she brought out the lyre harp she’d been playing the first time I saw her as well. Occasionally, people would enter and exit their rooms near where we were sitting, and some even came and dropped a few coins on the table. After a few songs, Karita put my grandmother’s lute case on the ground, leaving it open, and people began putting tips in there instead. It still made me nervous, and I couldn’t sing, no matter how much she begged, but it was strangely wonderful to get to perform alongside a true artist.

Afterward, she wanted to split the money we’d earned equally, but I refused.

“Come on,” she said, “This was a team effort. You did 50% of the work, you get 50% of the profit!”

“And you’re letting me use your room every night for free,” I reminded her. “Besides… this is _your_ job. Not mine. It’s how you earn your living.” I shook my head. “It isn’t right for me to take half.”

“Stubborn thing, aren’t you!” She sighed and began to count out the coins; once she finished, she slid a small handful across the table towards me. “Here. Your hiring fee.”

I frowned. “Hiring fee?”

“Yep. I hired you to accompany me for an hour, and that’s the percentage you insisted upon. You drove a hard bargain, but I gave in in the end.”

“But… I never…”

“Oh, Laurie,” she sighed. “Just shut up and take the money.”

Sheepish, I did as commanded, pocketing the coins before bending to place my lute back in its case. 

When I asked her where she kept all of her money, assuming she didn’t spend it all immediately—and if the small amount we’d collected that morning were anything to go by, she must make ten times that amount every night she performed—she said that her room had a safe in it; several of the deluxe rooms did, and if they didn’t, Corpulus was willing to rent them out.

“Why do you ask?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a fortune hidden away in that dingy little room of yours!”

I hesitated before answering. The man in the gardens had chastised me for revealing I had quite a bit of money with me, but surely I could trust Karita. I’d never really had a friend before (the children of neighboring farmers notwithstanding), but I certainly _wanted_ to trust her. Then again, perhaps 100 septims really wasn’t that much in the grand scheme of things.

“…Not a lot,” I finally said. “But… I wouldn’t want it stolen.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that. You’ve got your key, right? Corpulus and the kids are the only ones who have the spare, and you can trust them. Old Corpulus is a miser, but he’s not a bad man. And stealing from his patrons would be awfully bad for business!”

That reminded me—I hadn’t thought to ask either of them last night, but I wondered at Jon having a key to Karita’s room.

“Oh I had spare made and gave it to him,” she said after I’d asked. “Well, I guess I should say _he_ had a spare made; I certainly couldn’t afford it!”

“But… why?” I asked, baffled. Then it dawned on me. “Are you and he…?”

Her eyes widened—just before she burst out laughing, her hand even going to her chest as if she needed help breathing.

“Divines, _no_!” she finally managed. “For one thing, his wife would kill me! I’ve heard enough about her to know that! Aside from that, poor Jon’s heart beats solely for Olfina; I couldn’t have turned his head even if I’d wanted to!”

“So… why did you give him your key?”

She shrugged.

“Apparently, staying at a palace doesn’t give a person much chance to spend time alone. He has the college, of course, and still attends lessons so far as I know—well, don’t know if he still does, what with that moot coming up and all—but his time still isn’t his own there. And Jon’s a writer, see—writes all sorts of poetry and even puts it all to music sometimes. Coming here a few days each week is about the only way he can find some peace and quiet—time to write and think! Well, I suppose he does spend an hour or so downstairs first, but after that, he’s either up here or in my room. _Only_ if I’m down here, of course; can’t have rumors starting up about the two us, not when you’re the husband of a jarl!”

And I supposed his professors must give him work to do, too. Still, how could a room in a rather noisy tavern be more peaceful than a no doubt lush private room at the Blue Palace? Something still didn’t quite add up.

“I’m almost embarrassed to say,” he admitted that afternoon.

I had forgotten that he’d offered to escort me back to the apothecary’s the night before, so it was lucky that I was still at the tavern when he arrived. Both he and Karita agreed that it was probably safe for me to walk through that part of town alone during the day, but I was still more than willing to accept his offer.

“…You don’t have to,” I said, for I felt bad now for putting him on the spot. “If you don’t want to.”

He laughed, a bit sheepishly.

“It’s all right. The palace is just too… quiet? Too peaceful. I stayed at the Winking Skeever the first night I arrived in Solitude, you know. I was supposed to go the palace and present myself to the jarl, but I didn’t.”

I glanced at him. “Why not?”

“Is it wrong to say I enjoyed being nothing and no one special, just for one night? I knew things were only going to be worse once I reached the palace.” He smiled. “That was the night I met Karita. She saw right away how miserable I was.”

“How could you be miserable? You were going to be a bard. And you were married—to a queen!”

“A _queen_ I wasn’t going to see again for the next year at least,” he said, teasingly emphasizing the word so that I blushed

“ _Jarl_ ,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Sorry.”

He laughed.

“In any case, there I was, sad, and lonely already, and dreading having to play the part of jarl’s husband—without even the comfort and pleasure of having my wife near me. I was happy to be accepted into the college, of course, and grateful to Falk for allowing me to trespass on the palace’s hospitality for an entire year’s time—though I did return home for Saturalia, even if leaving again was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do—but I found the palace—stifling, I guess. Not conducive to inspiration.”

“…How so?” I asked, for I found it rather hard to imagine how a palace could be anything _less_ than inspirational.

“Too quiet? Too perfect. Everything’s just so in a palace. Dragonsreach is much the same, with everyone saying ‘my lord’ this and ‘my lord’ that. Rolling out of bed to find breakfast already waiting, the halls as quiet as can be, save for the sound of servants going about their duties. How am I to write about real people and real experiences in such a place? Love, for example, isn’t born in a palace. It’s born in a field of flowers, in the chance encounter at the market square.”

“Is that how you and Olfina met?”

“Actually, I can’t really recall how we _first_ met. We’ve known each other since we were children. Our families were great allies and comrades in arms, long before the civil war. _After_ the war… I suppose we did meet in a field of flowers, once or twice.”

His eyes had a mischievous gleam to them, and I couldn’t help sharing a smile with him as we walked.

“…Karita thinks you’re too busy at the palace,” I said after moment. “And that’s why you come to the tavern.”

“Maybe I’m too ashamed to tell her the truth?” He shrugged. “And I do go there to write—in her room, that is, but usually only after I’ve spent some time downstairs—just watching people talking, drinking, enjoying their lives. How could I tell Karita that I like to come to the tavern—the place where she _lives_ —because I essentially crave the illusion of being a commoner?”

I frowned at the way he put it, and had to admit he was right not to tell her his true reasons. Even _I_ felt mildly put off by what he was implying. Still—I hadn’t lived his life. I didn’t know what it was like to live in a palace where everyone fed you breakfast and called you ‘my lord.’ Maybe it really was as stifling as he seemed to think it was.

Though it would be nice not to have to worry about money.

And to be married to a _jarl_.

I sighed, imagining what that must be like. I had no image in my head of what a jarl should look like, and I’d never seen the king of Farrun in person. Well, Jon was something like a prince, wasn’t he? I glanced at him sideways, but already I could only see him as my friend and nothing more—I certainly couldn’t imagine being married to him.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, smiling as he caught me staring.

“Being married to a jarl,” I said, and then I couldn’t help blushing, for I knew what he must think.

He laughed. “Maybe you’ll get your chance. Jarl Falk is newly single, though they say his heart still beats for Lady Bryling.”

“Lady Bryling…?”

“Aye, his one true love, or so they say. She even journeyed with him to Whiterun for the moot. Everyone expected them to marry after he became jarl, but they didn’t. From what I understand, they had a falling out, and off she went to take care of her mine in Stonehills.”

“He sent her away?” I asked, blinking.

“The rumors say as much, but I don’t think he did. Falk has a soft heart, for all he has the look of a soldier. No, I think she left on her own accord.”

I certainly hoped that to be the case. I felt awful for Lady Bryling, and even for the people of Haafingar Hold, if they should have to be ruled by such a cruel man.

I spent the rest of the day back at the inn, doing my best to finally decide which stories to submit. I determined to focus solely on _The Red Rose_ and set _The Juniper_ and _Petal and Hummingbird_ aside for now, for it seemed a wiser tactic to try and suit my writing style around a particular journal rather than attempt to spread myself too thin and appease a multitude of editors. My stories tended to fall more in line with _The Rose_ ’s than the other two’s, and as for _The Juniper_ in particular, I just had to hope the editors of _The Rose_ would take Francis’ story as well. I absolutely refused to start describing the size and girth of certain body parts, and, in all honesty, there just wasn’t much in the way of plot for most of the stories I read through, and I _liked_ plot. I didn’t think _The Juniper_ ’s readers would appreciate being subjected to seventeen chapters of hopeless pining over a married man.

Then I had to make proper copies of the stories I wanted to submit, for there was no guarantee that I would get the originals back after they’d been submitted. This was a tedious affair, and greatly reduced the number of stories I’d initially determined to submit. In the end, I settled on the first three chapters of Francesca’s story. I also included a snippet of her first love scene—taking the opportunity to rewrite portions of the scene, naturally, for it had now been over three years since I’d first written it, and I had surely grown as a writer since then—just in case the editors should like a sample of that _particular_ style of writing. I then drafted a long note, discussing the overall arc of the story, its current length, my projected ideas concerning the direction of the plot, and the aside about Francis. I had learned my lesson after my encounter with Ullia and Betia: I was going to come prepared.

The next day, Karita walked with me to _The Red Rose_ ’s headquarters. It was now my fourth day in Solitude, and I was growing used to the crowds and the noise, but she insisted on coming along for moral support. I didn’t object—maybe part of having friends, I reflected, as I walked silently beside her while she went on about an argument she’d witnessed between Minette and two other girls this morning, was realizing that they often knew you better than you knew yourself.

“Well, here we are,” she said, pausing in her retelling of events as we finally stopped before a small, nondescript gray stone building. The sign posted above the front door had the words ‘The Red Rose’ chiseled out into it, along with a stylized rose, the stem of the rose sweeping dramatically beneath the words.

“Now don’t go all silent on me,” said Karita, which under normal circumstances would’ve been amusing, considering I hadn’t really said a word since we’d left the inn. “You’ve got that look on your face again, as if you’ve seen a ghost. Take deep breaths and think about how lucky folk all over Skyrim will be when they get to read your stories!”

“…That doesn’t help,” I managed, suddenly paralyzed by the thought. What if I got _hate_ mail?

“Ohh…!” she muttered to herself, taking my hand decisively in hers and pulling me up to the front door.

A little bell tinkled overhead as we entered, and a young woman behind a desk looked up at us, her spectacles sliding slightly down her nose.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“My friend here’s a writer,” said Karita, still holding my hand. “A brilliant one, too. Read one of his stories when he got up to use the washroom the other night, and it set my heart to beating and my cheeks to blushing like you wouldn’t believe. Now he’s got a nice stack of stories he’d like to submit to your fine publication, and I’m telling you right now: you’d be a fool to pass on the likes of him!”

“If you’ve brought them with you,” said the young woman, while I stared at Karita in shocked betrayal, “you can give them to me. I’ll see that one of the editors gets them.”

“Well,” said Karita, giving me a nudge, “Go on.”

I gave a little start and fumbled with the bag at my side. I pulled the three stories out, plus one excerpt with the long note I’d written on top, and tentatively stepped forward, handing them to the woman behind the desk. She took them, slipped them into a folder she’d pulled out of a drawer, and slapped the folder down on top of an impressively large stack in the corner of the room.

“What’s that?” asked Karita, “Don’t tell me those are all from different people!”

“We receive hundreds of stories a week,” said the woman, sounding bored. “We’re a popular publication. We’re read all over Tamriel. The editors try to get through as many submissions as they can, but they don’t make promises.”

“…When will I know?” I asked. “If they—if they like them?”

“Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe next month. Maybe not at all; it happens that we lose track of submissions from time to time. You left an address?”

“…No,” I said, but before I could panic, she handed me a pen and a scrap of paper and bid me to write down my name and where I was staying.

“Anything else?” she asked, and despite all my preparations, all I’d planned to discuss regarding Francesca’s story and how I thought it would fit _The Red Rose_ ’s collective oeuvre and my concerns regarding Francis—my mind went predictably blank.

I shook my head.

“We’ll be in touch,” she said, already bending back to her work. Clearly, we were dismissed.

“ _We’ll be in touch_!” mocked Karita, once we were outside again. “What a load of rubbish! Right after she tells you that she loses people’s stories all the time! And wearing that insufferably smug expression the entire time! If I didn’t think it’d hurt your chances I’d have given her a piece of my mind—and maybe my fist!”

I let Karita rage as we made our way back to the inn. Inside I felt myself slowly sinking, as though there were untapped reservoirs of despair I hadn’t yet realized existed. The reality of my situation began to coalesce around me, and I found myself desperately wishing I might be twelve again, so I could go and hide in my parents’ barn and cry over the unjustness of the world around me.

“Sorry,” said Karita, “I just can’t help it. Well, you’ve got the other titles, haven’t you? Maybe we should try those instead.”

“…I think I need to sit down,” I said, my fingers absently clutching the strap of my satchel.

I could feel my chest getting tight again, though I hadn’t exactly exerted myself today, and it was actually cooler today than it had been on previous days. Nevertheless, Karita grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me towards a nearby wooden bench outside a cobbler’s shop. She pulled my hand into her lap then, and patted it a few times, urging me to take deep breaths and think about my handsome lunch date from the other day.

“Stop…!” I said, laughing and pulling my hand free so I could cover my face with both hands.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t get his name. You’re very bad at this, you know.”

“It’s not like that,” I said, and when she gave me a knowing smirk, I huffed under my breath and looked away, smiling. 

“You should go back, see if you don’t run into him again. Bet he’s been looking for you.”

“Not likely…”

I sighed, trying not to think of that far too pleasant afternoon.

“…He was… some sort of lord, I think,” I continued. “Or a guard captain, or… I don’t know.” I frowned. “And I can barely get two words out around him. That’s how it _always_ is.”

“Well, we’ll have to work on that, won’t we? Next time you accidentally have lunch with some handsome guard captain who gives you bad advice about where to buy medicine after dark, you need to be prepared.”

Despite Karita’s repeated attempts to cheer me up, my disappointment about _The Red Rose_ hung over me for the next few days. Before long, a full week had passed since I’d been in Solitude. My resources were steadily dwindling, and I had finally begun to tap into the 100 septims I had once intended to use to apply at the college. Taking the first septim from the little wooden box and heading downstairs to pay for another night at the Skeever certainly brought my spirits to a new low.

It really felt as if I had failed before even starting. I resisted Karita’s advice to keep ‘putting myself out there,’ as she called it. And when the note came from the elderly editors of _The Bee and Butterfly_ one Middas morning, I prepared myself for the near certainty of rejection. I had clearly greatly overestimated my chances at making it here in Solitude as a writer. Nevertheless, I slipped my satchel over my shoulder and made my way back towards Vekkel Street and down the little residential side street until I came once again to the quaint little house with the yellow door.

Ullia welcomed me into the sitting room again, and this time, Betia was waiting.

“Good morning, Mr. Nailo,” she said. “Should you like a bit of tea? Perhaps some buttered bread?”

“Yes,” I said, for I’d skipped breakfast in anticipation of being fed—I didn’t have the coin to pay for something I knew I’d likely receive for free anyway. “Thank you.”

“Now,” she said, once she’d handed me my tea cup and plate of buttered bread. “Let’s talk business. I’ve gone through your portfolio, and I must say, I was quite impressed. It isn’t often that a person such as yourself shows up on our doorstep and submits such polished material. However—

She paused, and narrowed her eyes at me, a faintly amused look coming to her face.

“Breathe, dear,” she said, “You’re far too young and far too handsome to asphyxiate yourself here on my sitting room couch. You’ve your whole life ahead of you.”

“…Sorry,” I said, trying not to pant, for I had indeed been holding my breath without realizing it.

“As I was saying: very fine material you left with me last week. The one I liked best was the one about the little girl who tried to save the lamb. The attention to detail was just…” She made a little gesture with one hand, closing her eyes briefly. “Spent some time on a farm, didn’t you?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“The biggest change I would suggest is letting the lamb live at the end. I’m afraid it’s far too macabre for our readers otherwise. Beyond that, I’d like to see the girl’s age lowered just a tad. Nine, perhaps? We want to tighten the narrative as well, too, to say nothing of the page limit requirements. To that end, I’d pair the characters down to just the girl and her parents.”

“…But…” I stared at her, overwhelmed. “That changes _the whole story_!”

“Yes and no. The core narrative is still there—but we’d certainly be changing the message, presumably from one of acceptance to one of hope. And that’s exactly the sort of thing we try to publish.”

“But the siblings... It’s a _farm_! Most farmers have a half a dozen children at least! My mothers didn’t because they didn’t need to, but most _do_!”

Betia smiled.

“There, now, you see? You’re getting the hang of this. That’s a very fine point, my dear. We wouldn’t wish to sacrifice verisimilitude, now would we?”

“But the lamb… the whole point of the story, it’s…”

I shook my head, speechless with misery. I couldn’t understand—how could she say she liked my writing yet then say she wished to change almost everything about it?

“This is all part of the process, Mr. Nailo,” she said, leaning forward as though sharing a little secret with me. “ _You_ are an artist. You wish to defend your art, and that’s only natural. It’s quite admirable, even. However, I am an editor, and I also happen to be the one with the readers, I’m afraid.” She winked. “The idea is for us to try to come to an agreement. That’s how publishing works.”

And then it dawned on me. _That’s how publishing works._ She had just said it, right then and there: she wanted to publish one of my stories. Even if it meant changing almost everything about the story, she wanted to publish it. _My_ story.

“…You liked it?” I asked, doing my best to ignore the way the room was starting to spin. “You liked my story?”

“I did indeed. Nevertheless, I would be very grateful if you would accept the copy you left with me and go over the notes I made on it. If you return to me next week with the rewrites we’ve discussed then we can go from there.”

“…A week,” I said, nodding and taking the folder she handed me. “I can do that.”

“Wonderful. Now, why don’t you take a quick look at my notes and see if you have any questions for me.”

She gave me some time to do so, about fifteen minutes or so, while she left the room to attend to some other task. I wondered if this were standard procedure—if an author were always given leave to collect their thoughts and put together a rebuttal of some kind. But when she returned, all of my earlier dismay had evaporated, and the only feeling I was experiencing was relief. I would make whatever changes she wanted.

We talked a bit more, and I was glad when she brought up the subject of payment, for I was too nervous to. Though it seemed close to a sure thing now that one of my stories would be published in her journal, she couldn’t promise to pay me until the edits were completed, and we had both agreed on the final manuscript. It wouldn’t be good business to do so before, nor would it be entirely fair or ethical to me.

Of course, I was perfectly willing to throw fairness and ethics out the window for now if it meant getting paid, but I could see that she was firm on the matter. And it did make sense. I simply had to resign myself to the fact that I still would not be getting paid for another week. And the amount that this story alone would earn me was hardly going to pay for more than one more night at the Skeever.

But it was a start. And I could now officially call myself _a writer_.

I couldn’t _wait_ to tell my new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the abrupt ending -- I had to split this chapter in two, as it ended up being almost 12,000 words long 😱 The pacing may feel a bit off, but it should correct itself soon! ;)
> 
> And aww, poor Lady Bryling. That mean old Falk!! ;;;;;)))))


	8. Chapter 8

Afterward, I was too excited, too buoyed by the news of my success (however small) to return immediately to the inn. Yet I had no money, and no one to celebrate with, other than Karita—Jon only joined us in the evenings, and only occasionally. Karita had said she planned to take Minette shopping this morning since she and I wouldn’t be playing as usual, so I was officially on my own. I thought about asking Sorex if he’d like to show me around town, but discarded the idea almost as soon as it had come to me. Only the other night, he’d cornered me while I was eating dinner alone upstairs on the balcony while Karita performed downstairs in the common room. He wanted to know if she ever talked about him when he wasn’t around. I didn’t want to crush his spirits, but I didn’t want to lie to him either. It was terribly awkward.

So _that_ wasn’t an option.

Then the sudden thought came to me: I could always find Jon and tell _him_ my news. He was a fellow writer, after all.

And, well, why shouldn’t I? We were friends, weren’t we? Of course, as soon as I started walking in the general direction of the Blue Palace—it was hard to miss, no matter what part of the city I happened to be in at the moment—I began to doubt my assumptions. But he had been so kind and friendly to me this week, not to mention his heroic rescuing of me from those awful thugs. And Karita considered him her friend. Why shouldn’t I? There were no laws against a farmer’s son being friends with the husband of a jarl, at least not that I was aware of.

It was quite a walk to the palace, but the day was very fine, and not too hot, either. The crowded streets of Solitude had never bothered me so little. There wasn’t much that could dampen my mood that morning, and renewed confidence that I had at least two friends to share my news with actually made my heart flutter in a pleasant sort of way.

The crowds dwindled as the road began to lead steeply uphill. I recognized some of the great houses I passed now, for this was now my third time heading in this direction. Just like last time, most of the people I passed appeared to be servants, hurrying about on some task or another. I passed a few city guards, as well. Occasionally, some finely dressed person might ride by on a horse that bore very little resemblance to the sturdy mare we kept on the farm to pull the cart on market days. I was always careful to get out of the way.

Finally, the entrance to the palace came into view. The gardens were on both sides of the road now, and quite resplendent. The stone walkway opened up onto a lovely courtyard. I saw a lady sitting on a bench, feeding something to a little dog; a pair of lovers lingered near an ornamental fruit-bearing tree, hand in hand, shy smiles on their faces. I thought of Jon’s declaration about love and palaces and couldn’t help smiling to myself.

Of course there were guards stationed at the doors leading into the palace. I don’t know why I hadn’t anticipated that there would be.

“State your business,” said the one on the left.

He was tall and blond, like so many Nords, though strangely clean-shaven. I could tell from his expression that he didn’t think I belonged here.

I swallowed, my hands gripping the strap of my satchel.

“Servant’s entrance is that way,” said the other guard, after I didn’t immediately offer a reply.

She pointed towards a path that led off to the right; it disappeared behind a high stone wall and presumably led to the aforementioned servants’ entrance. She looked ever so slightly friendlier than her companion, so I decided to brave addressing her instead.

“…I’m looking for someone,” I managed.

“Looking for who?” she asked, frowning. “Can’t just waltz up here asking after your sweetheart, you know. This is the Blue Palace. Like I said, servant’s entrance is—

“Hold on a minute, Greta,” said the other guard.

When I looked at him, I noticed he was now staring at me with slightly widened eyes. It was somehow even more unsettling than the menacing look he’d been wearing only a moment ago.

“What?” asked the other guard.

“I think he might be… you know.” He nodded towards the palace. “The one we were asked to look out for.”

The other guard—Greta, apparently—suddenly seemed to start.

“Do you think so?” she asked.

The man shrugged then looked at me.

“You, ah, wouldn’t happen to be looking for the jarl—would you?”

“Darald, you idiot,” sighed the woman, “Don’t you remember what Captain Reyna said?”

He blinked.

“Oh, right.” He looked at me again. “Could you, perhaps… _describe_ the person you were looking for?”

I stared at them now as if they’d both lost their minds. They were speaking utter nonsense, but as they were currently standing between me and Jon, assuming he was inside, I supposed I had no choice but to humor them.

“Well,” I began, “...He’s… tall…”

“Aye,” said the woman. “Beard?”

“…Yes?”

“Hair color?” asked the man.

“…Yellow?”

The excited look seemed to vanish instantly from both their faces.

“ _Yellow_!” said the woman, as if it were some sort of insult. “Are you sure?”

“Um,” I said, my hands squeezing the leather strap of my satchel again. “Yes?”

“Must not be him,” said the man, shrugging.

“Evidently not,” agreed the woman.

“Laurie?”

I turned around at the sound of my name—and felt immediately relieved, for there was Jon, walking towards us with a curious smile on his handsome face. He had a lute case slung over his shoulder, so I supposed he must be coming from the college. He looked so tall and confident and friendly, I was almost humbled, even embarrassed, to consider him my friend.

“Lord Jon!” said one of the guards, both of them straightening to attention.

He nodded at them both before smiling at me.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have news,” I said, a bit breathlessly, for now I was suddenly excited again.

“What sort of news?” The guards moved to open the doors, and he gestured that I should accompany him into the palace. “Good news, I presume, judging from the look on your face.”

“Ullia and Betia,” I said, and he knew who they were, for I’d mentioned them a few times to him and Karita. “They’re going to publish one of my stories.”

He paused, his eyes widening.

“What—that’s _wonderful_ news!” he cried, gripping me by the upper arms and shaking me gently. I grinned, and felt quite tickled when he pulled me briefly close and gave me a pounding clap on the shoulder. “We should celebrate! Come on!”

It was only when he began to lead me through the palace that I was able to pause and take stock of my surroundings. I had never seen such opulence—our footsteps were periodically muffled against thick rugs, that is, when they weren’t tapping against what appeared to be solid marble. We passed by massive stone pillars, under intricately carved archways, and down hallways lined with floor to ceiling windows that allowed the sunlight to pour in like a bright shower on a Sundas afternoon. There were plants everywhere, too, and sculptures and artwork of all shapes and sizes. We traveled up a carpeted set of stairs, then turned left down a hallway, one side of which looked down onto the terrace below.

All the while, Jon talked, much like Karita did when we walked together. He told me about his morning, how he had spent it working on writing a duet with another student. He felt confident they would be ready to share it with their professor next week, but he was nervous, for musical composition was a weak point of his.

“I wish you could be there with us,” he said, as we made our way down the second floor hallway. “Karita tells me you play beautifully. And now you’re a published writer! You’re more accomplished than I am!”

He paused before one of the doors on the far side of the hallway and opened it, gesturing for me to enter first.

It was nothing like Karita’s room. It was nothing like _any_ room I’d been in, _ever_. It was large, larger than any room in our house back home. The floor was wood paneled now, but still dark and shining, and a huge, thick rug covered most of it. There were elegant sofas and side tables against every wall except the one with the large fireplace, which was currently unlit. Windows lined another wall; they looked out onto a beautiful inner courtyard filled with greenery and flowers and trees. A doorway led into another, darker room that I supposed must be the bedroom.

“To your success!”

I started and turned to see Jon beaming and handing me a glass of some sort of dark liquid—rum or whiskey, probably. He’d been busy pouring us both a glass while I’d been awestruck over my surroundings.

“…Is this your room?” I asked, after taking a tentative sip. It made me wince slightly, but it went down very smoothly. I didn’t doubt it was worth more than anything my mothers or I had brought home from the market back home—let alone the barely digestible moonshine one of our neighbors had a penchant for making and selling.

“Aye,” he said, chuckling and plopping down onto one of the couches. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? So much space for just one man.”

I sat down in a chair near one of the windows, for I liked having a view of the gardens below.

“Is it very different from what you’re used to?” I asked. “Even before you were married.”

He shrugged.

“My family have money, I’ll grant you. We had a fine house in the Cloud District, not to mention a hunting lodge just south of the city. And my parents were not the richest Battle-Borns in Whiterun, either. Even so—yes, it’s quite different. No one called me _Lord_ Jon, for one thing.”

He winked at me, and I smiled, but I didn’t want to admit that what someone did or didn’t call me mattered very little in comparison to whether I had access to hot water—let alone marble floors.

“Tell me about your story,” he said, after I’d been silent for a few moments. “Is it just the one?”

I nodded.

“For now. And Betia wants me to change a lot. It was… a lot to take in at first, but I think she’s right. I mean…” I flushed, suddenly embarrassed to think of my initial stubbornness over her suggestions. “She obviously knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m glad. But do you think she respects you—as an artist, I mean?”

When I nodded again, he seemed to relax, as if he’d been worried. I took another sip from the glass—it was very warm now, and smooth, and I quite liked it. Then I noticed him looking at me and smiled.

“What?” I asked.

He smiled back.

“I was only thinking—I should _like_ to see you at the college with us, but I almost don’t think it would suit you. And here you are anyway, succeeding on your own merits. I almost feel ashamed that I felt I needed to travel all this distance, as if I needed to prove to myself and to the world that I really was a poet.”

His words rather struck me, for I had never felt that I needed to ‘prove’ myself as a writer. Yet I had come to Solitude all the same—only I had come for my music, not my writing. How was that any different?

“…I did _try_ to audition,” I said, though it took me a few attempts to get the words out. I felt the room grow hot, and knew it had nothing to do with the liquor in my system.

“So you told me,” he said carefully. “I could sense you didn’t wish to talk about it—and you don’t need to. As I said—

“I want to,” I said, startling him—startling us both, really.

He blinked, then nodded, as though indicating that I should go on.

I took a deep breath.

“I heard a woman singing. I… thought it was the most beautiful singing I had ever heard. And it was. But to them…” I paused, fumbling for the right words. “She was just a student. No, she—wasn’t even that. Not yet. And I knew… in that moment, I knew that I didn’t belong there. So I left.”

We were both silent for a time. I could hear the sound of two people talking down in the garden below, of songbirds singing back and forth to one another. If I listened hard enough, I could even hear the sea wind rustling through the leaves of the trees.

“Maybe you were right,” said Jon, finally. When I looked at him, he smiled. “Maybe you really _weren’t_ meant to be at the college. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s the path we’re both meant to follow.”

“…Meant by whom?” I asked, frowning. “The gods?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m not a priest. But I agonized for years over whether or not I should come here. Once I did—even though it was hard, even though I missed ‘Fina desperately—I was happy. Can you say the same? Are you happy?”

“…I don’t know,” I admitted.

He actually laughed, the sound soft and musical.

“When you told me a moment ago that your story had been published, I’d never _seen_ you so happy. And Karita says that when you play, you close your eyes, and you have the happiest look on your face she’s ever seen.”

“But my mothers and I saved for _years_ to get me here,” I said. “And now it’s all wasted!”

“No, it isn’t. You’re on your own for the first time in your life, right? Well, so am I. And at nearly thirty!” He snorted softly. “We all go about things in our own way, I suspect. The right path for one isn’t necessarily the right path for another.”

They were words of wisdom, but I was still too disappointed in myself to accept them wholeheartedly. Yet I was grateful nonetheless.

After that morning, I no longer questioned whether Jon and I were truly friends. And I no longer felt so terribly alone in Solitude, for I felt in my heart that I now had two people here in the city I could rely on, should I ever need them. I could only hope that they might feel the same about me.

The next few days became something of a blur, as I set myself immediately to the task of editing the story Betia had returned to me. I also worked hard on several more I planned to submit to _The Bee and Butterfly_. Jon had offered to show me around the palace after our celebratory drink, but I had declined. Maybe, if anything, his advice had given me newfound purpose. Perhaps I hadn’t been good enough for the bard’s college. But Betia and her sister thought I was good enough for their journal, and I was determined to prove them right.

Of course, I never forgot about Francesca and her brother. I couldn’t. Jon had talked of me being happy; well, I was always happiest when working on the twins’ stories. For a day or two, I gave the entire series up as a bad job—and it made me wretched. It became clear that, whether public success was to come my way or not, I couldn’t stop writing their story. Eventually, I returned to it, and I even began to let Karita and Jon read excerpts. They soon were begging me to let them read the story from beginning to end (or at least up to its current iteration), and I really saw no reason not to let them. It was perhaps a little embarrassing at first, but their enthusiasm carried me past my initial embarrassment—for it _was_ embarrassing to know your friends were reading your spiciest love scenes, and of course then I had to break down and admit that I had very little— _perhaps no_ —real life experience to back them up. They assured me it felt real enough to them when they read it, and while Jon blushed and laughed and shook his head when I asked for his opinion, Karita was only too willing to offer me both tips and praise.

It had been nearly two weeks since I’d arrived in Solitude, and my money was steadily dwindling. Ullia and Betia had accepted my revisions on the story about the little lost lamb, and I had begun work on a second story. Payment for the first story did little more than secure me another night at the Skeever. It was rather depressing to see it disappear so quickly.

Nevertheless, I had tried to put it out of my head, for at least the next few days. Jon and Karita both had brainstormed with me about finding a job outside of singing or writing or playing, but I’d found the idea altogether unpalatable. I was too nervous to approach a shopkeeper and ask if they needed assistance, and I knew I’d never be any good with customers. Jon had offered to speak to someone at the Blue Palace, especially as I had experience in both animal husbandry and gardening. I told him I would think about it.

One evening, he and I were sharing dinner on the balcony while Karita sang below. I felt comfortable around both of them, and was always particularly happy when Jon showed up, for it meant I wouldn’t be eating dinner alone—Karita could only join me after her performance ended. I had asked Jon once why he never sang or played with her, and it evidently had something to do with the college. There were strict rules about hiring students to perform—to say little of faculty or graduates—and the price was steep. Of course, he probably could have gotten away with it once or twice, but Jon was always very careful not to break any rules. Considering who he was and what he represented—namely, the interests of an entire hold, and, perhaps more importantly, his wife—he claimed he couldn’t afford to.

“I think you’d like working at the palace,” he was saying, in between mouthfuls of roasted chicken and leek and potato. He’d mixed it all together and took big, hearty bites—as if he’d been the one raised on a farm and not me.

I poked at my vegetable stew (it was cheap—though Jon convinced me to splurge on a piece of bread to go with it), my cheek resting on my other hand.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never really worked _for_ anyone before.”

“Mistress Agatha seems a very nice woman, and she’s held the position of head gardener for years. I’m sure she’d be an amiable enough employer.” He paused to stuff another piece of chicken and vegetables into his mouth. “If you like, I could take you to the gardens tomorrow, show you around. Maybe introduce you?”

“…I’ll think about it,” I said, absently mashing a softened potato against the edge of the bowl.

Jon gave me a frank look.

“And you’ve been ‘thinking about it’ since the last time I offered. Karita and I don’t want you to have to return home to High Rock. You belong _here_ , in Solitude, writing and publishing your stories. Don’t you agree?”

I did. But I just wasn’t sure about what he was suggesting. After all, this ‘Mistress Agatha’ probably wouldn’t let me spend several hours a day writing—not if I was to be employed tending the royal gardens. But I didn’t know how to articulate this without sounding ungrateful or spoiled. Then again I was half-worried I _was_ a little more spoiled than I’d realized.

“Being in service is a job, the same as selling shoes or serving drinks or plowing fields,” said Jon, evidently reading my thoughts. “And besides, it isn’t as if you’d be asked to change the bedsheets or empty the chamber pots of fancy folk like myself. It would be work you’re already familiar with, and probably easier than what you did at home. Trimming bushes, pulling weeds, tending flowers…”

He trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly. I looked over my shoulder and saw Sorex approaching us, even though we hadn’t ordered any more food. I sighed and faced Jon again, sharing an aggrieved look with him. I _really_ should talk to Karita about this little crush of Sorex’s.

“Dinner all right?” asked Sorex.

“Good as usual,” said Jon. “Our compliments to the chef.”

Sorex snorted.

“Wouldn’t go that far, calling old Gorim a chef, but I’ll pass the word along.” He turned to me next, surprising me by pulling a folded letter out of his pocket and handing it to me. “This came for you this afternoon. Sorry, meant to give it to you earlier.”

I took it from him, unfolding it and supposing—it must be from my mothers. I couldn’t help thinking of the terrible letter I’d written them nearly two weeks ago now, and guilt began to creep up my spine. Though it was odd that my letter should have arrived home so fast, and that theirs would already have reached me…

The letter was not from my mothers.

At first I just stared blankly at the words before me.

Then I blinked, and read them again.

“…It’s… from the editors of _The Red Rose_ ,” I said.

“The what?” asked Sorex, frowning.

Jon leaned forward, an intense, anxious look on his face.

“And?” he asked.

Our eyes met, and I could feel the smile slowly spreading onto my face. Jon gave a _whoop!_ of joy and jumped out of his chair, hurrying to me and pulling me upright so he could pull me into a bear hug. It fell to him to explain to Sorex what was going on, for I was still too overwhelmed—too overwhelmed, even, to relay the full contents of the letter.

Karita must have noticed our antics from below, for once the last song ended, another failed to follow. Within seconds, I saw her hurrying down the hallway, her eyes wide as she approached us.

“What is it?” she asked.

“ _The Red Rose_!” said Jon, throwing his hands in the air.

Karita squealed and did the same, then they hugged, then she ran and hugged _me_. I laughed, overcome by their excitement. All the while, poor Sorex stood there with a baffled look on his face, his fingers scratching at the back of his head.

“You’re in the presence of a published author, my friend!” Jon finally said, beaming and clapping Sorex on the shoulder.

“I thought he already had a story in that kids’ magazine,” said Sorex, still wearing an utterly befuddled expression.

“Yes!” said Karita, “But this is the one he _really_ wanted!”

They wanted to know everything the letter said, which story or stories the editors had agreed to publish, if they might be interested in receiving more, but I was still unable to speak. Finally, I handed the letter to Karita, who read the contents aloud for the other two to hear.

“ _Dear Mr. Nailo_ ,” she began. “Ohh, so professional! I bet that nasty woman at the front desk didn’t write it.”

“Stop monologuing and get on with it!” said Jon.

Karita stuck her tongue out at him before continuing.

“ _We, the editors of_ The Red Rose _, Skyrim’s most prestigious romance magazine with the largest number of copies in circulation in all of Tamriel_ —Divines, if _that_ isn’t pretentious—maybe she _did_ write it—

“Karita!” 

“All right, all right! _We, the editors,_ … _would like to inform you that we would be delighted to publish the stories you sent us_. What?!” She paused and looked at me, her eyes wide. “All of them? All three?!”

“Keep reading,” I said, still a bit breathless.

“… _Furthermore, we are very interested in your proposed series, and would like you to consider allowing us to publish one chapter of the story of Francesca and Francis Neramo in each new issue. Considering the current length of the story as so indicated by yourself, we anticipate this particular story running in our journal for the next two years at least…_!!!!”

The tail end of the last sentence was nearly inaudible, for Karita’s voice had risen to such a fever pitch, she was practically squealing by the time she got to the end. Soon we were all laughing and hugging again; I could even feel tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. It truly was beyond anything I had ever imagined might happen. Even when I first submitted, I’d only been half-wishing on a _dream_ that they’d be willing to publish more than one story, and I still had my doubts that they’d be interested in Francis, too. To know that they not only wanted to see more, but that they liked the sample I’d sent so much that they wished to publish the _entire thing_ … I actually had to sit down at some point, for I was beginning to grow dizzy.

Eventually, we all calmed down enough to let Karita finish reading the rest of the letter. Sorex was asked to supply us with celebratory drinks, and the other two finally learned about the proposed book series, once the serial had run its course; the house artist (including a sample drawing of the twins) the editors were suggesting; and the rather mind-blowing offer of 10 septims per chapter.

“You can finally move out of that dumpy little room and find a proper place to live!” said Jon.

“Or at least move into one of the deluxe rooms,” said Karita. “Oh! The one two doors down from mine just became vacant!”

“Hold on a minute,” I said, laughing. “That’s still only 40 septims a month. Definitely _not_ enough for a deluxe room. And could I really get a place for so little?”

“I should think so,” said Karita. “At least in certain parts of town.”

“Though maybe not in parts of town we’d _want_ you living in,” said Jon, stroking his beard.

“And then there’s food, and… well.” I smiled, for I knew they were just excited for me. “Who knows what other expenses could crop up?”

“Money to take your handsome guard captain out to dinner!” said Karita, and I groaned and lowered my face into my hands.

It was a night to be remembered. Before I drank too much, I finally wrote a proper letter to my parents, telling them everything that had happened. I admitted that I had failed to attend my audition, but that I hoped they were not too disappointed in me for squandering the money I had saved, for I’d found a new passion to stake my hopes for success on. I shared my good news with them, both about _The Bee and Butterfly_ and _The Red Rose_ , and assured them that in addition to those two publications I would continue to try to find more who might accept my work, and, barring that, would find proper, regular employment to sustain myself—my pride be damned. I told them about Jon and Karita (though I neglected to mention Jon’s political status—it seemed too complicated to discuss in a letter) and hoped that learning I had two new friends who genuinely cared for and supported me would waylay any concerns for my safety they might have.

I didn’t tell them about the man in the gardens.

There seemed little point in doing so. I hadn’t seen him in nearly two weeks now, and likely never would again. He wasn’t the first man to make my heart beat painfully in my chest (my condition notwithstanding), and he probably wouldn’t be the last. At twenty-five, I had mostly accepted that I would never have the courage to pursue another person romantically, and that I would always be too awkward, too different, to truly draw the interest of others.

But I would be lying if I said I didn’t still think about him at all. It wasn’t _him_ in particular, but more the idea of someone like him. He had been so terribly kind to me, had made me think he might actually see beyond the awkwardness and the difference.

He had called my playing ‘beautiful,’ and yet I wasn’t entirely certain he’d been speaking solely of my playing.

In the end, he didn’t matter. I knew from experience that I would daydream about him for a few more weeks, and then he would fade from my memory, just as all the others had. Just as Jaime, the young man on the ship who’d teased me so much I’d thought it _must_ be flirting, had done; just as the blacksmith’s apprentice back home in Alverton had done, just as the farmhand my mothers had hired when I was only nineteen had done. I was just shy, my mothers used to tell me. I would grow out of my stutter. People would learn to see me for who I was inside. My true love was out there somewhere, they insisted, and he wouldn’t care that I was so tall, though not as tall as most Altmer. He wouldn’t care that I had a weak heart.

But they were my mothers. I didn’t blame them for saying such things.

And there were other ways to succeed at life. I thought there must be, watching my friends rejoice over my alleged success. And I supposed, for now, it would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did this end up ending on such a melancholy note? I guess Laurie's still not quite sure what it is he wants in life....


	9. Chapter 9

_“You matter more to me than I ever could have imagined…”_

_Francis gazed down at their clasped hands, the captain’s words washing over him like a warm summer breeze. Could this truly be happening? After all this time, after everything they’d been through together…_

_“…But I cannot leave my wife,” Captain Hendriks continued._

“NO!” cried Karita.

She thrust the manuscript back at me, glaring at me so hard I couldn’t help laughing.

“You can’t do that!” she said. “You _can’t_! Rewrite it, rewrite it right _now_!!”

“…You don’t like it?” I asked, holding the manuscript to my chest and pulling the saddest face I could muster.

“Don’t LIKE it?! It’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever read in my life! EVER! Lawrence Nailo, you’re a _sadist_!!”

My laughter (and her cries of betrayal) must have been loud enough to induce some of the other patrons to ask one of the servers to insist that we please keep it down. We apologized, but then Karita kept glaring at me, and kicking me under the table, and it was really very hard not to laugh, so I turned to snorting into my wineglass instead.

We weren’t at the Skeever; we were sitting in the outdoor patio area of an uptown inn where Jon was supposed to meet us. The place was quite fancy. There had even been a list of fine spirits for us to choose from. Luckily, Karita, having grown up as an innkeeper’s daughter, was familiar enough with some of the names to make a selection for both us so that we didn’t look like the ‘country knobs’ we really were—her term, not mine.

“Jon had _better_ come,” she muttered, as she took another sip of her wine. “ _I_ sure as Oblivion can’t pay for this!”

I silently echoed the sentiment, for I’d skipped breakfast again and was also very hungry. But we didn’t want to actually order food until we were certain he would be here to pay for it. It had, after all, been his idea to come here for lunch, ostensibly to _properly_ , as he put it, celebrate my newfound literary success.

“Did someone say my name?”

I looked up over my shouldered and brightened, for there he was, beaming down at both of us before taking a seat at the table.

“Finally!” said Karita, lifting her hand in the air and waving the server over. “My stomach is about to eat itself!”

“Sorry I took so long,” said Jon, sighing and reaching for the bottle of wine. “The Markath jarl and his wife arrived last night. Turns out Thongvar Silver-Blood is just as difficult to handle as he was five years ago—and his new wife even more so.”

“Why do difficult people always marry difficult people?” asked Karita, smiling as the server finally came over. “Yes, I’ll have the quail and lobster, please!”

“I see you’re taking advantage of the fact that only one of us is paying for all of this,” said Jon dryly, but Karita only beamed at him. “Crab leg chowder for me,” he said.

The server nodded, then turned to me.

“…Horker steak?” I said, somehow turning my answer into a question, for Jon’s comment now had me worrying about ordering something so expensive.

“Very good, sir. Half or whole?”

“Half—

“Whole,” said Jon, interrupting me. He laughed when I gave him an aggrieved look. “I was just teasing Karita. She deserves it; you don’t. Besides, you’re too skinny to be ordering half portions.”

I sighed. “You sound like my mothers.” But I nodded when the server waited for me to confirm.

“Don’t think I won’t get you back for that, _Lord_ Jon,” said Karita. “But I agree. Laurie, you definitely need to eat more—and stop skipping breakfast!”

“It’s not going to kill me,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And until I start making more money…”

“Actually,” said Jon, pouring himself a glass of wine, “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“…More jobs at the palace?” I asked, frowning. Pulling weeds wasn’t exactly my idea of a dream job, but at this point, beggars could hardly be choosers.

“Of a sort. You see, we’ve got this moot coming.”

“You might’ve mentioned it,” said Karita. “Once or twice.”

“All right, all right, so I’ve been complaining a lot about it lately. But things are only going to get worse from here on out. This morning alone was a nightmare; I must have zoned out three times while Lady Tilda was talking. Divines help me if she actually said anything important.”

“Wouldn’t entertaining another jarl and his wife for a moot in Solitude be… well, the jarl of Solitude’s job?” I asked.

“It was, but I naively offered to give Falk a break this morning. The poor man looked as if he’d rather throw himself off a cliff than have to deal with those two all morning.”

“Speaking of which,” said Karita, “They say he’s been desperately pining for some mystery lover of his.”

Jon rolled his eyes.

“Who told you that?”

Karita shrugged. “Oh, you know. Patrons.”

“Well, he’s hardly pining, at least not as far as I can tell. I did speak to Captain Reyna the other day, and she said something about being on the lookout for someone important to the jarl, but I don’t know anything more about it. Otherwise, he seems the same as ever to me.”

“Poor Lady Bryling,” I said, remembering. “I suppose he doesn’t love her anymore after all.”

“I don’t know. They’d only just separated when I first arrived here, and he seemed pretty broken up about it. Very quiet. Even after a year, he hasn’t really changed all that much.”

“Weren’t you going to tell Laurie about some sort of job opportunity?” asked Karita.

“You say that like you weren’t the one who changed the subject! But yes. So, things like this morning are only going to keep happening, only much worse. And once the moot starts, I’ll be stuck in a room _full_ of Jarl Thongvors and Lady Tildas. But here’s what I was thinking…”

He leaned towards me, crossing his arms over the table between us. “What if I had someone there to help me? Falk has his steward; so does ‘Fina—all the jarls do. So if I’m expected to act as a jarl, shouldn’t I be allowed the same kind of assistance?”

“Doesn’t a steward help run the hold?” asked Karita.

“Well, yes. Okay, so not exactly like a steward. More of a… well, an assistant. Someone to sit beside me at the moot and take notes, so when I forget something or need help with something, they could help me out.”

“…You need a note-taker?” I said, frowning, and trying to understand.

“Exactly! That way I won’t have to worry about looking like a complete fool in front of the others.”

“And you want Laurie to be your note-taker?” asked Karita.

“What?!” I said, sitting back in alarm. “I couldn’t do that! I’m too—I just—I couldn’t!”

“You wouldn’t have to talk to anyone,” he said, laying an earnest hand over my arm. “Well, except me, of course. Actually, you wouldn’t even have to talk to me.”

When I gave him a dubious look, he laughed.

“All right, picture it like this. We’re all sitting down together, all of the jarls, the spouses, generals, whomever they’ve brought with them. I’m there, representing Whiterun Hold. You’re there, too, sitting beside me—but no one pays you any mind, because you’re only there to assist me.”

“Well, _that_ sounds horrible,” said Karita, making a face.

“Not to Laurie,” said Jon. “He’d prefer it if no one noticed him. Right?”

I nodded vigorously.

“So the discussion begins,” he continued. “They’re throwing out names, countries, cities, rivers. This law that was passed, that law that should be passed… _Would do you think, Jon Battle-Born?_ That’s Ulfric Stormcloak. He’s glaring at me from across the table. Casien places his hand on his knee, but he won’t be dissuaded. My mind is a frantic whirlwind of information. I turn to you, my trusted friend and note-taker. _‘What was the name of that village they were just discussing?’_ I whisper. You flip through your notes and show me: _Darkwater Crossing_. Triumphant, I give my opinion. Ulfric Stormcloak—looks impressed! Casien is relieved. Falk is gazing at me with sudden respect. The other jarls think to themselves, _perhaps it’s time we stop underestimating this one._ ”

Karita and I were both silent for a moment, then:

“I don’t know whether to feel impressed or embarrassed for you,” said Karita. I snorted and kicked her under the table.

“Okay, it was a little melodramatic,” said Jon, smiling and tugging at the collar of his tunic a little. “But you get the idea, right?”

“…I think so,” I said, though I was still awfully unsure. “I don’t know about being around all those important people…”

“As I said: no one will notice you. I even ran it by the jarl’s steward, and he said it should be perfectly fine, especially since I’m here on my own with no one to support me. Jarls and jarls’ representatives generally travel with an entourage of sorts, no matter how small.”

“You’ve left out the most important part,” said Karita, crossing her arms. “How much does he get _paid_?”

“Well,” said Jon, tugging at his collar again, “That’s the thing. As a guest of the Blue Palace and the spouse of a jarl, I’m allowed to withdraw money from the treasury that I need to support my person—such as this meal, for instance.”

“Good thing you eat enough for three,” snorted Karita.

“I have a healthy appetite. But according to Falk’s steward, I’m technically not supposed to _hire_ anyone. That would actually be considered an illegal use of my funds.”

“So you want him to work for _FREE_?” asked Karita. “Jon Battle-Born! I’m ashamed of you!”

“No, no!” cried Jon, blushing and holding his hands up. “It gets better, I promise! You see, if you’re my guest, that means you can stay at the Blue Palace. And that includes free breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And as you’re already earning a bit of an income with your stories—and as for the moot, well, I haven’t a clue how long it might last, but during the last one they only met in the mornings, and not even every day. So you’d still have plenty of time for writing.”

“…You’re offering me free room and board…” I said, comprehension finally dawning over me. “At… the _palace_ …”

Surely, I wouldn’t be given a room in any way, shape, or form similar to his own. Still… Images of marble flooring, luxuriously carpeted stairways, and expensive artwork filled my mind’s eye. I thought of the beautiful gardens Jon’s room had overlooked, too, or the gardens where I had had my chance encounter with the man from the well. I supposed if I lived at the palace, it would increase my chances of running into him again…

I shook my head, frowning, and shaking away the ridiculous thought.

“Is that a ‘no’?” asked Jon, anxious. “I really could use the help. Honestly, if you won’t do it, I may have to ask one of the other students at the college. I really don’t think I can do this moot thing alone, and I—

“No,” I said, then I sighed in frustration. “I mean—yes! Yes, I’ll do it, I just—” I bit my lip, unsure of how to voice my apprehensions.

“How about this,” said Jon, “After lunch, I’ll take you back to the palace, show you around. We can pick out a room for you to stay in—well, we’ll have to ask Soren which ones are available. Or perhaps the housekeeper.”

“…Soren?” I asked, frowning, for the name sounded vaguely familiar.

“He’s the jarl’s steward. After we find you a room, I can take you to the meeting room. You can get a real feel for the place, and we can visit it as often as we like so that you feel comfortable there by the time the moot officially begins.”

“It’ll still feel a lot different once it’s filled to the brim with the most important people in the country,” warned Karita.

“True enough,” said Jon. “But I’ll be with him the whole time. And you have to admit—” He gave me a playful little kick under the table. “It’s a lot better than any of the other jobs you’ve been turning your nose up at.”

I laughed weakly, though it was true that I’d been really dragging my feet about finding a job. This note-taking opportunity Jon was offering me—essentially, help a friend out in exchange for free room and board _at a palace_ —was genuinely too good to pass up. I’d be a true fool if I refused.

So I didn’t. After lunch, as promised, we said good-bye to Karita, and Jon took me back to the palace. I felt my anxiety climbing steadily with each step closer, but I tried to keep my breathing steady and my thoughts calm. Walking up the lane towards the Blue Palace with a jarl’s husband alongside me was quite a different experience from walking up here alone. People recognized Jon and hailed him; sometimes they nodded or bowed, and he nodded back. Some eyed me curiously—and I don’t doubt my visibly mixed heritable made me stand out as much as it always did—but they seemed to lose interest in my presence almost immediately. I supposed they simply thought I was a friend of Jon’s, or perhaps a servant, though I don’t think most young lords would chat with a servant in as friendly and continuous a fashion as Jon did with me.

The guards at the palace doors were, of course, different from the ones who had been posted there the first time I had been here. They bowed to Jon and moved to open the handsome double doors, allowing us to enter.

“We’re not going upstairs…?” I asked, when he led me past the staircase we’d taken last time to his rooms.

“No,” he said, chuckling, “I’m afraid you’d have to marry a jarl to find yourself in a second floor set of apartments. Or a mayor at least,” he added, winking at me.

I smiled and laughed a little, and wasn’t remotely disappointed. I was in a _palace_ ; it little mattered to _me_ which floor I’d be sleeping on.

We finally came to a hallway lined on both sides with doorways; it was certainly less adorned than some of the hallways closer to the entrance of the palace, but it was still very fine. The floor was still marble, and though no portraits hung on the walls, neatly tended little plants hung from hooks, and beside each door was a little side-table—where servants could place food and other requested items, Jon explained.

All of the doors had a rectangular shaped frame wherein they might hold a slip of parchment. Most of the frames were empty, though a few were not. Each parchment contained a name, presumably of the occupant.

Jon came to the first unoccupied room and paused to knock, just in case, before opening it. He then gestured for me to enter first, so I did.

The room was significantly smaller than Jon’s—in fact, it was very nearly the size of Karita’s at the Skeever. But it didn’t have the homey, lived-in quality of hers, and it lacked the pock-marked walls and creaky, half-rotten floorboards. The floor was a beautiful, polished stone, but just as Jon’s sitting room had been, most of it was covered with a fine rug, the colors warm but muted. A large, canopied bed dominated one side of the room; on the other stood a handsome armoire and a very stylish writing desk. There was a side door which presumably led to an on suite washroom. There was also a small sitting area closest to the main door where we still stood, and here was where the fireplace was located.

 _And_ there was a window.

“What do you think?” asked Jon.

I moved forward, unable to believe that I might truly be allowed to live in such a place. Of course, it would only be for the duration of the moot, but…

“…It’s beautiful,” I said, coming to stand before the window.

It looked out onto a rose garden—I began to wonder if every square inch of the area outside the palace were composed of beautiful, ornamental gardens, but knew that couldn’t be so. Surely there were stables, and a blacksmith, a greenhouse and a more practical vegetable garden, a place for livestock and other such animals, perhaps even a mill. But I supposed it made sense that guest quarters would not look out onto such places.

“So far as I know, they all pretty much look like this,” said Jon, still standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. “I know it doesn’t compare to the sort of luxury the Skeever can offer, but…”

I whirled around, laughing. “Stop teasing me!” I said, and he grinned back.

“Do you want to see the others?” he asked.

I shook my head. There seemed no point, especially if they were all pretty much the same.

“Then shall we go and find Soren? We can have you moved in by tonight. It’ll save you another night’s rent at the Skeever.”

So off we went. Jon, as usual, chatted the whole time, but for once I found myself tuning him out (though hardly on purpose). I couldn’t help imagining myself sitting on one of the stone benches in the rose garden, playing my lute, or sitting in my cozy little room, writing, while the summer rain tapped gently against the window.

We made our way back towards the front end of the palace, bypassing the elaborate foyer and instead heading towards the opposite end. This, I assumed, was where some of the offices were. Soon enough, we entered yet another hallway; the floor beneath our feet became carpeted, and there was a single door at the end of the short hallway. Someone was walking towards us from the opposite direction, but I was still lost in thought, and hardly paying attention to who he might be.

“Laurie…?”

I looked up, startled—

—and into the astonished eyes of the man from the gardens.

“What an unexpected pleasure!” he said, and even in the low lighting, I could see from his expression that he meant it. “I had hoped to see you again, though I…”

He blinked, and seemed to suddenly recollect himself, as though he had nearly said something he shouldn’t.

“That is, I confess that this is the last place I would have expected to find you!”

“…I’m sorry,” I managed, though I’m not quite sure why those were the first words my brain seized hold of.

“Sorry?” He gave me a curious look. “Whatever for? I’m certain you can have nothing to be sorry for!”

I gazed at him, marveling anew at how easy it was to look him in the eye. Of course, I could look Jon in the eye, too, but somehow I never really thought about that sort of thing when we were together. He was still handsome, and in the low lighting, his hair and beard did not look so red. The freckles on his face were gone, and he seemed, older, tired. But perhaps that, too, was on account of the shadows cast by the flickering lamps around us.

I swallowed.

“…You invited me back,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady my heartbeat—I thought of Karita holding my hand in the market and telling me silly things. It helped. “To the gardens. But… I never came.”

“I see,” he said. “But you are here now, are you not? Though, if I had to hazard a guess, on some business that does _not_ involve eating meat pies on the cliffside.”

I laughed before I could stop myself, then had to look down, biting my lip.

“No,” I finally said, though I still couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “I suppose not.”

He smiled back, and looked as though he wanted to say more. But then he seemed to recall that we were not alone, for he glanced past me at Jon, who had been standing there silently with his eyebrows raised so far up they almost disappeared into his hairline.

“Well,” said the man, smiling at me again, “I suppose I should leave you to your business. It was wonderful to see you again.”

He started to turn away, then seemed to reconsider. He paused, facing me again.

“I should add that my offer still stands. To repay you for the loss of half your lunch. That is… if you feel it is not too great an imposition on my part.”

“Oh,” I said, and for some reason, I had trouble understanding exactly what he was saying, for it was as if my brain had suddenly decided to stop processing words. “Okay.”

He beamed at me.

“Wonderful. Well, then…” He paused to nod at Jon, then me. “I bid you both good day.”

I pressed my lips into a little smile, which seemed to please him, for he took a few steps backward, hands clasped behind his back, before finally turning around and walking away from us both. I watched him go, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and how fine a figure he cut, for I supposed it was all right to think such things about a person, so long as I kept it to myself.

After a moment, I turned to Jon, who was staring at me as if he’d never seen me in his life before.

“What,” he asked slowly, even as the most ridiculous smile was starting to curl onto his face. “…was _THAT_??”

I frowned at him, not a little bit hurt, for I thought he was teasing me over my horrible conversation skills. I hoped it hadn’t been _that_ obvious, too, that I had a bit of a crush on the person I’d just been speaking to. I could also hear Karita in my head yelling at me for once again failing to catch his name.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Did I really seem so stupid?”

“Laurie,” he said, grabbing my arm suddenly, and making me start. “Do you have any idea who it was you were just talking to?!”

“…No,” I said, flushing. _Not you, too_. Karita was bad enough.

He looked at me, his expression intense.

“That,” he said, lowering his voice—for dramatic effect, I think— “Was _Jarl Falk_.”

The word ‘jarl’ echoed in my head several times before it finally seemed to coalesce into meaning. When it did, it settled down, light as a feather, brushing over all the interactions I’d had with the man—that time he touched my arm on the way back to the inn, or the way he’d gently placed his hand over mine when he’d thought me in distress. The way his eyes seemed to shine when he smiled, or the way he sometimes flushed when we were talking, as though he were embarrassed.

And he was the _jarl_.

In Skyrim, a jarl is a king.

_A king._

“Whoa…!” said Jon, and that’s when I knew exactly what was going to happen, for it happened before, though it hadn’t in a while—not since I was very young, fourteen, I think. And that had been when Jonny Millsweed had told me I was too tall and too ugly for him to kiss, and I had thought him the cruelest boy in the world, and had cried until my head hurt, for I hated myself for liking him as much as I did. Just as it had then, and several more times before that, the world around me began to slowly spin, and I suddenly felt as though I couldn’t get any more breath into my lungs. I could feel my heart beating weakly in my chest, and my awareness was going dim.

I did notice that the ceiling above me was a very pretty, off-white sort of color, and that there was an unlit candelabra hanging below it. I think I felt someone’s arms go around me. Then I finally lost all consciousness.

//

_Falk is way too smooth in this picrew. False, false, I say._

_Oh, OH. I have Falk face claim, too_ 👀

_I should've given him long hair in this story. Sigh. (Also, Falk is clearly the type of person who gets so nervous when talking to his crush that when he asks him out he forgets to say when and where.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers ❤❤ I realize I am telling a story starring a pairing so rare I had to create its tag here on AO3 xDDD I'm not expecting to even HAVE a lot of readers. I tend to have really low self-confidence as a writer, so if you are reading, if you could please find it in your heart to leave a tiny comment, I would be so appreciative!! If you like, you can just copy/paste this heart (❤) to let me know you're still reading. Thank you so much!!
> 
> (To you guys who do comment: I love you so much and your words of support are the reason I keep tapping away at this thing!)


	10. Chapter 10

I came to slowly.

I first became aware that I was lying down, though my boots had been removed and my feet were propped up under a few cushions. I was on a couch of some sort. An older woman—a Nord, I think—was sitting beside me, and she had her hand on my chest. She smiled when my eyes met hers.

“Take slow, deep breaths. Don’t try to move just yet.” She looked away from me then. “Is the water boiling yet?”

“Just about.”

That was Jon’s voice. I relaxed, and let my eyes slide closed again. I could feel warmth coming to my cheeks, for I knew now that I had fainted, and he must have caught me. But I was more grateful than embarrassed.

The woman got up, and Jon soon replaced her. He smiled down at me, one hand coming to pat my shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said. “I should’ve known better than to come at you all at once like that.”

I blinked up at him, confused.

“Give him time to breathe, my lord,” said the woman. “Right now, we want to take things slow and easy.”

“Right,” said Jon, looking sheepish. “Sorry.”

“…Where are we?” I asked.

“In Soren’s office,” he said. “Soren’s the—well, he’s the steward here at the palace.”

“Help him to sit up, my lord, and we’ll get him to drink some of this tea.”

He did, moving as slowly as possible, the healer asking me afterward if I felt at all dizzy. When I shook my head _no_ , she handed me a steaming mug and bid me to drink.

“Lord Jon says you drink a similar tincture every night,” she said, watching me. “Do you often find yourself feeling faint?”

I shook my head again.

“…Not since I was a child,” I said.

She nodded.

“Well, if it happens again, we may want to up the dosage. Though it will never cure you completely, as I’m sure you already know.”

“Yes,” I said, for my mothers and I had had this same conversation with the healer in Alverton many years prior.

“Now,” she said, standing and looking at Jon again, “You may talk to him, but remember: calm, slow, and easy. No surprises.”

Jon nodded, and this time, instead of sitting on the couch, he pulled a chair up alongside me. He patted my knee instead of my shoulder, too, an anxious smile on his face.

“How much do you remember?” he asked.

I frowned.

“I’m not sure… We were walking together… to get to the steward’s office?” I looked at him, and he nodded encouragingly. “Then I saw someone… the man from the gardens….”

I trailed off, remembering how beautiful his eyes had looked, how warm and kind his voice had been. He _was_ handsome, and I felt rather embarrassed, for he was clearly older than me, and very important—he was always so finely dressed, and so well-mannered, too.

And then, of course, I remembered that he was the jarl.

My hands holding the mug began to shake, and my chest felt tight again. I blinked and tried to swallow.

“Laurie!” said Jon. He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around mine, forcing me to look at him. “It’s all right. Yes, he’s the jarl, but he’s only a man. Just like me, see? You don’t have to be upset; he’s only a man… Just a person, like you, and me, and Karita, and Healer Errin. All right?”

I looked at him, and nodded, though I still felt as if I wanted to curl into a little ball and hide myself away forever.

“…I didn’t know,” I said, trying very hard to get the words out. “….I didn’t!”

“I know,” he said. “And it’s all right. Nobody minds. It’s all right. Try to breathe, okay? In and out… in and out…”

He glanced at the healer—Healer Errin, I presumed—as though to ask if he were doing right, and she nodded. He looked back at me then, and I did as asked, taking a slow, deep breath. It felt good. The pressure on my ribs seemed to fade again, and my heart settled back into its usual rhythm.

The tea I took made me sleepy, which was why I had always been instructed to take it at night. I could feel this one having a similar effect, but that was probably a good thing. I forced myself to think of him—the man from the gardens—the _jarl_ —to think of him as he was. A kind man, yes, but a very powerful one. A man with a great deal of responsibility. But, in the end, just as Jon had said: only a man.

“…I feel a bit silly,” I confessed. “I shouldn’t have… reacted that way.”

“Don’t,” he said, smiling, “It was my fault. I—well, I suppose I may have overreacted a bit myself. And I can’t blame my heart for it, either.”

I smiled sheepishly back, and, after a moment, set the mug down on the windowsill beside me and wrapped my arms around my chest.

“I think I just thought…” I sighed and rubbed my face tiredly with one hand. This was so embarrassing. “Every time we’ve talked, it… seemed like he…”

“…So he really is the one then,” said Jon. “The one Karita teases you about.”

I nodded, miserable.

“Well, I’ve got some good news for you. You’re still breathing, right? In and out?”

I nodded again, but now I was wary. He was hiding something—trying to be steadier in his enthusiasm, but hiding something nonetheless.

“Would you like to talk to him again?” he asked.

I blinked at him. “Who?”

“The jarl,” he said. “Sorry—Falk. Don’t think of him as the jarl. He’s just Falk.”

I sighed, leaning my head briefly back against the side of the couch.

“If I ever _do_ see him again, I’ll have to apologize for being so… I don’t know.”

 _An idiot_ , I thought, squeezing my eyes shut as a new wave of humiliation began to wash over me. Was I truly the only one in Solitude who could find himself talking not once, not twice, but _three times_ to the jarl and never actually realize it? Considering all the evidence I’d encountered yet disregarded—the guards saluting him at the gate, for instance, or the well-dressed servant who’d come to fetch him in the gardens—it seemed altogether likely.

“Well,” said Jon, “You’re about to get your chance. If you want to, that is. He’s waiting just outside.”

My eyes snapped back open.

“What??” I asked, sitting up again in alarm.

“Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But Soren went to fetch him, after he fetched the healer, that is. And it seems Falk’s been looking for you. You’re the person Captain Reyna ordered her people to be on the lookout for.”

“Looking for _me_?” I blinked. “But… _Why_?”

All sorts of horrible possibilities arose in my head, but none of them really made sense. I didn’t think I’d committed any sort of infraction or faux pas in my interactions with the man from—with the jarl. Our conversations had always been friendly and polite, if a bit… well, I couldn’t find my tongue in _most_ social situations; put me around someone who made my heart beat a little too fast and I essentially turned into an elf-shaped pile of rocks. But there surely weren’t any laws against being a complete buffoon.

Jon didn’t seem to think so either, because he just looked at me for a moment. Then his expression seemed to soften, almost as if he were gazing at a child.

“Poor Laurie,” he said, chuckling and shaking his head. “You really are the most…”

“…What?” I prompted, when he didn’t finish the thought.

“I can’t really think of a nice way to put it, and I don’t like to kick a man when he’s down.” He grinned when I rolled my eyes. “Now, are you okay to talk? No more fainting over sexy old men in dark hallways?”

“That’s _NOT_ why I fainted!” I said, glaring. “You’re as bad as Karita!”

“Guess she’s been rubbing off on me.” He stood up. “So is that a yes?”

I sighed, and tried to ignore the way my heart gave a little jump in my chest.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s fine.”

Jon and the healer didn’t give me much time to prepare. As soon as I gave the word, Jon spared me one last wink before turning and nodding at the healer; then both of them headed for the door. I felt my heart leap temporarily up into my throat, and curled my knees in closer to my chest, my crossed arms squeezing. Should I stand up? Wouldn’t I look silly and weak, sitting her on the couch like an invalid?—which I supposed I was, and I wasn’t ashamed of my condition, but it hadn’t made me faint in a very long time, and Jon’s teasing still stung. Would the jarl truly think I had fainted just because I was so very attracted to him?

I groaned quietly, closing my eyes and leaning my head back, even as I heard the door to the steward’s office opening. It was the first time I’d admitted my fairly substantial crush to myself, and it was rather embarrassing—especially with the man himself about to enter the room.

The door closed again, and I swallowed. I knew he was now in the room with me. Alone, presumably.

I took a quick breath and opened my eyes again.

“Hello, again,” he said.

His smile was tentative, and he looked as though he weren’t quite certain of his welcome. The sunlight streaming in through the office window highlighted the red in his hair and beard, and his freckles had returned. From my position on the couch, he looked taller and broader than usual, almost as though he were too large to fit in the room. There was, I noticed for the first time, something about him that hinted at discomfort. As if he were uneasy, yet fearful of expressing it.

“Hello,” I said, and was quite impressed with my ability to get the word out on the first try.

“May I sit down?” he asked, indicating the chair by the couch.

I nodded, and he did so, his movements still tentative.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, after a few seconds of silence passed between us.

“Fine,” I said.

I could feel the warmth rising to my cheeks and looked down. How I wished I _weren’t_ sitting down, so that I could turn away and feign being distracted until the flush faded. Knowing I couldn’t only caused my skin to burn all the hotter.

 _It’s my heart_ , I wanted to say. _That’s all. I didn’t faint because I like you or because I found out you’re the jarl. It’s just my heart._

But of course I didn’t. And it was just as well, since it wouldn’t have made much sense anyway.

“I feel I owe you an apology,” he said, startling me.

I looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking down at his hands, and I noticed that his face was slightly flushed, too, though it could have been mistaken for a flush of exertion, and his heavy beard nearly hid it.

“I should have told you who I was,” he continued. “It was cowardly of me, and I apologize. I suppose I was hoping that you would…”

But he didn’t finish—only sighed and closed his eyes, as if he’d almost said too much.

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting my own.

“My reasons are irrelevant. I have deceived you, and for that I apologize. I don’t expect you to forgive me for my deception, but… I would, most humbly, ask for that forgiveness, just the same.”

“…Why _didn’t_ you tell me?” I asked, and that’s how I realized, right then and there, that I truly _had_ been hurt by his secrecy.

He sighed, a deeply troubled look on his face.

“It’s very difficult to explain. You see, the position of jarl is… rather new to me. You might say that I am unused to it, unused to the attention it has brought me, yes, but beyond that… I’m not the man I once was, and I never will be. For some, that has been… an insurmountable burden.”

I wasn’t sure I quite understood, but I could see that he was very sorry. Even beyond that, whatever it was he was thinking about was bringing him real pain. I felt sorry for him then, and ashamed of my outburst.

“…I forgive you,” I said.

He looked up at me again, and the quick smile that came to his face brightened his eyes considerably.

“Then I am grateful for your forgiveness,” he said. “Though I don’t deserve it. I should also like to ask if you might consider continuing our friendship, if I may be so bold as to call it that. Though I have wronged you, it was not out of malice, I swear it. And I have—greatly enjoyed our conversations.”

 _So have I_ , I wanted to say, or tried to say, but my mouth just wouldn’t cooperate. I took a quick breath and closed my eyes, trying to steady myself.

“…I’d like that,” I finally said.

I didn’t add that I wasn’t sure _how_ to be friends with a jarl. Nor did I ask him why he was so keen on friendship with me in the first place. Perhaps, I thought sadly, it was out of kindness. If there was one thing I truly believed about him, it was that he felt sorry for me, and that he felt greatly responsible for what had happened.

“You don’t know how glad that makes me,” he said, and I couldn’t help thinking with amusement that if his earnest expression were anything to judge by, I most certainly did.

“…So!” he continued after a moment, leaning back and slapping his hands lightly over his thighs. “I hear from Soren that you are to assist Jon at the moot. And that you’ll be staying here, at the palace?”

“Yes,” I said, but then I felt myself immediately flush, for wasn’t the palace technically his home? “…If that’s all right with you,” I added, though I felt rather silly for doing so.

He blinked at me, clearly confused.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” He smiled a little, almost sheepishly. “Is it because I teased you for not being part of one of the great families here in Solitude? I suppose I should apologize for that as well. I wondered if—well, if my teasing had been the reason you’d not returned to the gardens.”

“No!” I said quickly. “I… don’t know why I didn’t come. …I guess I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?”

The way he said the word, along with the warm smile he was giving me, told me he wanted to know more but was too polite to ask. It almost made me laugh.

“Yes,” I continued. “I’m trying to become a writer. Well… I _am_ one, I guess, only I want to be successful at it.”

“If you write as beautifully as you sing and play, I’ve no doubt you will be successful.”

“…I’m not _that_ good,” I said, frowning a little at such a warm, heartfelt compliment. “Believe me, I’ve heard better.”

“And is that how you measure success? Against the accomplishments of others?”

The question stumped me into silence. It occurred to me that I _had_ been doing that. It was the whole reason I had run away from my audition before it had even begun. Maybe there was no way I could sing as well as the girl who’d been singing that afternoon—of that, I was quite certain. But that didn’t in turn mean that my singing—or my playing, which was far better than my singing—wouldn’t have been good enough for the college.

“Forgive me,” he said, startling me from my thoughts, “That was an impertinent question.”

I shook my head.

“It wasn’t. I just… don’t know how to answer,” I admitted.

“I see. Then perhaps in the future I should refrain from complimenting you, as it seems to only result in confusion.”

When I looked at him, I could see he was teasing me. I smiled, and he smiled back, and I thought in that moment that maybe being friends with a jarl wouldn’t be that strange after all.

“Well,” he said, rising to his feet. “I suppose we should allow Soren back the use of his office. And you’ll be wanting to complete your business with him and Jon.”

He offered me a hand up, and I took it, allowing him to help pull me to my feet. Of course, that meant we were now standing very close to one another, and he still retained hold of my hand for a moment afterward. Our eyes met, and I was again amazed at how pleasant it felt to look him directly in the eyes.

And then I thought of kissing him, and quickly pulled my hand away.

Strangely enough, he seemed equally embarrassed, clearing his throat and moving to clasp his own hands behind his back. The smile that came to his face then seemed a little forced.

“I suppose I must leave you for now. Forgive me; I would walk back with you, but I unfortunately have business of my own I must attend to.” He paused, seeming to take a moment to gather his thoughts. “Now that you’ll be living here in the palace, I hope that we might see one another more often.”

“…It seems very likely,” I said. At least if we met more often, my heart might finally grow used to his presence. I certainly wouldn’t mind feeling less tongue-tied each time I tried to talk to him.

“Then…” He smiled, and gave me a short, almost perfunctory bow. “Until we meet again.”

I watched then as he turned and made his way back towards the door. It seemed I was forever watching him walk away from me, and the thought was bemusing enough to bring a slight smile to my face. No, being friends with him wouldn’t be very hard at all, I thought.

And therein might very well lay the danger, but I supposed I’d worry about that later. For now, I could simply enjoy the extraordinary luck the gods had bestowed upon me of late—of which only a truly very small portion included befriending a jarl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soren, Sorex... sorry. Soren has grown on me as a character (he makes an appearance later on, and will probably be a recurring character - think of him as a nice Galmar 🤣), so it's just too hard to change his name at this point!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've changed someone's default eye color from the game. Just a head's up ;)

If there was anything that could make me feel even sillier than I already felt, it was learning that Soren, the steward, was the same ‘Soren’ who had come to fetch the jarl that day in the gardens. I didn’t necessarily blame myself, and knew I would have recognized him as soon as I saw him. But, knowing me, I probably still wouldn’t have guessed that the polite, well-dressed redheaded man he’d spoken to then had in fact been Jarl Falk himself.

He was a very kindly man, about the same age as the jarl, and was very pleased to see I was well again.

“He spoke of you often,” he said, handing me the key to my new room. “Though you’ll do me a favor and not tell him I told you that.”

I pocketed the key, and wondered at the amused looks Jon kept flicking in my direction.

Afterward, the healer insisted that I join her in her office. A servant—a servant!—was sent to the inn to fetch my belongings, for she would not allow me to walk such a distance, not so soon after I had fainted. Since I was now living in the palace, and was the jarl’s particular friend—

“What?” I asked, the phrase startling me from my habitual silence.

She paused at the interruption and gave me a quizzical look.

“…Ah,” she said, smiling after a moment. “I see. Well, you are Lord Jon’s friend, are you not?”

“…Yes,” I said, then I couldn’t help blushing, for I still didn’t like to assume, and he was the husband of a jarl, after all. “I think so.”

“As Lord Jon’s personal friend, it behooves me to take you under my care, just as I care for all the residents of the Blue Palace.”

“…Even the servants?” I asked, surprised. “And the guards?”

“The staff have their own healer-in-residence, as do the guards in the barracks. No, my duties are to the jarl, the steward, other high-ranking members of the household, and any visitors of note, such as Lord Jon. And I do believe I may be quite busy in the next few weeks.”

“…The moot,” I said, remembering.

“Indeed. I have been in contact with the personal healers of all the jarls and their families, and my hands are likely to be quite full. But you must promise me, young man, that you will come and see me if you experience anything relating to your condition. That includes shortness of breath, dizziness, feeling tired when you know you shouldn’t, the inability to get comfortably warm—at once. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” I said, straightening a little. She rather reminded me of my mother—the one who had served in the Farrun army.

“Good. Now I’ll see that your tincture is filled for the duration of your stay here at the palace, so you can leave that to me. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you must continue to take it very regularly.”

I nodded; I had been taking it since I was a child, and it had become a daily ritual as common to me as brushing my teeth. But she wanted reassurance that I understood her orders, not any sort of backtalk—I’d learned that from my ex-army mother as well.

She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“I’m going to up the dosage of the lemon balm and nettle. It should help keep your mind settled in potentially disturbing situations, and cause less of a strain on your heart. It should also help you sleep better at night, though if you’re still feeling tired in the morning, do let me know.”

Afterward, I wasn’t sure where to go, other than to return to my new room. I did so, closing the door quietly behind me.

The room was small, but… so elegant it made me feel like a prince in one of my own stories. I ran my fingers over the smooth wood of the armoire, then over the cool, polished brass of the knobs. The washroom was even smaller, but all the facilities—not all of which I could immediately identify—were porcelain, and plush little rugs dotted the floor. The rug in the main room was thin but soft and brilliantly colored, all hues of red and gold and blue—the thinness, I suspected, was so that it could be swept without having to shake the whole rug out. I moved to open the window, letting the fresh smell of spring roses seep in from the garden outside. After a moment, I went and lay carefully back on the bed, my body sinking into the soft mattress, silk pillows cushioning my head. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was one of the twins, waiting for my beloved to come to bed and take me into his arms.

I was glad that no one was there to see the silly smile on my face.

The tea the healer had made me drink finally convinced my eyes to close, and before I could help it, I had fallen asleep. I’m not sure how long I dozed; the sun was still fairly high in the sky by the time the knocking on the other side of the door pulled me back awake.

I sat up, running my hands through my rumpled hair and moved to answer the door.

I expected a palace servant bearing my things from the inn, and so it was, but there standing beside him, with my lute case strapped to her back, was—

“Karita!” I cried.

“Where should I put your things, sir?” asked the servant.

“Oh, I’ll take them!” said Karita, grabbing the backpack from the slightly startled arms of the servant and rushing past him and into the room.

I smiled and rolled my eyes before thanking the servant, who surprised me by bowing before turning away.

“Give me the grand tour!” said Karita, after setting the backpack and lute down on the writing desk. “If that’s a private washroom I saw I’m going to cry because that means I can’t bribe you to perform with me anymore.”

“I’ll still come!” I said, laughing. “And maybe you can come here, and we can play in the gardens together.”

“Sounds like the perfect way to catch us _both_ rich husbands. I’m in!”

The ‘grand tour’ no doubt proved to be the shortest in history, seeing as how my room essentially consisted of a bed, a desk, an armoire, and nothing more—for now, at least. Karita already began making plans to place potted plants on the windowsill, to replace the drapes with something more romantic—her words, not mine—and to go shopping for a small looking glass that could be hung on the wall, since the washroom didn’t have one. She exclaimed over the porcelain tub and flush toilet, and handsome sink as well, but we both remained mystified over the bowl that sat a little lower than the toilet and resulted in a light stream of water spraying out when the spigot was turned.

Suddenly, Karita gasped.

“Do you think…? No!! It couldn’t be!”

“…What?” I asked, as I reached for one of the personal cloths to wipe up the spill we’d made—the stream of water had been quite strong.

“I think it might be for—well. This.” She went and actually demonstrated, sitting down primly on the lid of the toilet. “Then—!” Next, she stood up and sort hovered over the…

“…No!” I gasped. “Surely not!”

“And _then_!” She grabbed one of the personal cloths, stood up, and made a show of delicately dabbing at her backside. I couldn’t help laughing and sitting back on my heels (I’d still been wiping up the floor), covering my face with my hands.

“It has to be!” she said.

“It _can’t_ ,” I countered, still laughing.

“Aren’t you a strange one! You can make me blush with the things you write, but watch a girl dab at her own behind and you can barely open your eyes.”

I threw the damp cloth at her, but before she could retaliate, there was another knock on the door.

It was Jon, of course, come to see how I was settling in. Karita then wanted a tour of the palace, but he seemed reluctant to oblige—and kept throwing me strange little looks, too.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Don’t want to be seen by all your fancy friends with folk from the tavern?”

“It isn’t that!” said Jon. “It’s just—” He made an aggrieved little sound in his throat before looking at me. “Have you told her?”

I felt my stomach give a slow, unpleasant flip, for I knew immediately what it was he was asking.

Karita looked from me to Jon then back to me. “Told me what?”

“…I don’t think it’s really that important,” I said weakly.

Jon crossed his arms and looked at me.

“…All right,” I said, sighing and sinking down onto the bed.

“We’ve learned a little something today about Laurie’s secret admirer,” said Jon, giving me another prompting look which made me flush.

“…Please don’t call him that,” I said, though the request was nearly drowned out by Karita’s excited ‘ _WHAT?_ ’

“Karita,” said Jon, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but—you need to calm down. This is—” I could tell he was trying to phrase it nicely. “A sensitive subject.”

“I’m not going to faint again,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“You _fainted_?” She gasped. “Because of him? What did he do?”

“Karita…” warned Jon.

“All right, all right! I’m sitting.” She did just that, taking a seat at the little writing desk and folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I’m calm.”

“Promise?” asked Jon.

“Promise.” She nodded to me. “Continue.”

I took a long, deep breath.

“…I met him again,” I said, struggling to get the first word out even more so than usual. “Today.”

To her credit, Karita only arched her brows.

“How interesting,” she said. Then she leaned back in her chair and lay her hand over her mouth as if she were yawning. “Do go on.”

Jon snorted and gave her foot a playful kick. I now had to press my lips together to keep from smiling, and the uncomfortable tingling feeling in my stomach had mostly faded.

“I learned his name,” I continued. “It’s…” I closed my eyes, swallowed, and tried again: “…Falk.”

When I opened my eyes again, Karita was staring at me, her mouth hanging half open.

“Falk,” she finally said. “… _Falk_.”

I glanced at Jon and nodded.

“As in _Jarl_ Falk.”

“The one and only,” said Jon.

“Not just some random blacksmith named Falk. _The_ Jarl Falk.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding tiny to my own ears.

“Karita,” said Jon, his voice a warning.

Karita stood up. She breathed in, shook her hands, and walked towards the window. There, she gripped the windowsill, bit her bottom lip, and hung her head.

Jon and I exchanged an uncertain look.

“Are you…?”

She held a hand up, silencing Jon.

“You have to promise me something,” she said. When she finally turned around and looked at me, I nodded. “You have to promise—and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, Laurie, I really do—you have to promise me that when you and the jarl get married _you_ _let me play AT YOUR WEDDING!!_ ”

She was already jumping up and down and squealing so much by the end of the sentence I couldn’t help laughing. I was little surprised then when she ran forward and squeezed her arms around me, hugging me close.

“Well at least you finally seem willing to accept that he likes you,” said Jon, sitting down on the chair now and sighing. “And to think it’s been _you_ he’s been talking about all this time.”

“Blessed Dibella!!” cried Karita, sitting back all of a sudden. “That’s right! The pining! That was for _you_!”

“What?” I said. “No! And _no_ ,” I added, frowning at Jon. “He talked only of friendship. He never said anything beyond that.”

“Laurie,” said Jon, clearly exasperated, “I was standing right there when he asked you out! And you accepted!”

I blinked. “…I did?”

“You did.”

“Asked out by a jarl and didn’t even know it!” Karita laughed. “Divines, that’s so _you_.”

Karita wanted to know the whole story, of course, and it once again fell to Jon to tell it. Considering I hadn’t even been conscious for parts of it, it only seemed fair. Karita practically bounced up and down once she learned that the jarl and I had spent some time alone together in the steward’s office; she wanted to know what it was we’d talked about, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. His apology had been a very personal thing, I thought, and it would be wrong for me to share it.

Thinking about the conversation we’d shared naturally made me compare it to Jon’s assertions. But no matter how much I went over it in my head, I couldn’t point to anything that would indicate the jarl’s interest in me beyond friendship—and I still could barely comprehend why he was so keen on earning _that_. What would have even been the point of pursuing anything more? He was _the jarl_. And I was the son of farmers from High Rock.

Whatever the case, Jon and Karita both remained convinced that there was something more going on between myself and Falk. (Jon still insisted that I refer to him as such, as he said I went pale every time I tried to say the word ‘jarl.’ I told him he was ridiculous). The rumors about him ‘pining’ over someone were apparently just that, for Jon assured Karita that while Falk had mentioned meeting someone, and that he had indeed instructed the captain of the Solitude guard to be on the lookout for this person, there had certainly been no aforementioned pining. Yet even he continued to seem quite certain that my crush was not one-sided—not that I _told_ him about my crush, of course.

In fact, it was the reason why he’d declined to offer Karita and me a tour of the palace—because he felt certain that Falk intended to do the same (for me, at least). But after they both left, I waited, restless, anxious that he should come after all. I tried to busy myself with settling my things in my room, placing my clothes in the armoire, setting out toothbrush, hairbrush, and razor in the immaculate washroom, and lastly, placing my old stuffed bear on the topmost pillow of the bed. But even all that took almost no time at all. Writing was out of the question; I was too frazzled to focus. In the end, I sat on the open windowsill—it was broad enough for me to sit comfortably cross-legged—and strummed my grandmother’s lute. It kept my mind free and my anxiety at bay.

But he didn’t come.

I decided that staying in my room was no longer an option. It was driving me mental. But what was there to do? I probably shouldn’t wander the palace aimlessly; I’d likely find myself somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, and my position here was precarious enough—I wasn’t even technically a paid employee.

That made me think of Jon, and why he wanted me here in the first place. It occurred to me that if I were going to take notes for him at the moot, and try to help him understand Skyrim politics better in general—I should probably learn more about them myself.

It didn’t take long to flag down a servant, once I left my room, and ask her where I might find the library, assuming there was one. There was. It was on the second floor, which I recalled Jon saying was reserved for high-ranking visitors and dignitaries.

“…Is it… all right?” I thought to ask, feeling suddenly anxious. “For me to go there, I mean.”

She blinked at me as though confused.

“Of course, sir. Why shouldn’t it be?”

Her response naturally made me feel even more ridiculous, so I nodded my silent thanks before hurrying on my way. Was the palace library open to the public? Was it one of those things that everyone just sort of knew? But that didn’t seem to make sense, for the first time I’d approached the palace, the guards had clearly pegged me for a working-class person and insisted I use the servants’ entrance. I highly doubted servants were allowed to wander about the palace and take their leisure in the library.

Sighing, I set the confusing thought aside and, once I reached the library, began searching for anything that might help me in my new educational pursuits. It looked to be very dry reading: the history of Skyrim politics, judging from the various table of contents, was filled with quite a lot of battles and wars, deposed kings and queens, assassinations—very little if any romance. I sighed again and rolled my eyes before tucking a couple of titles under my arm and heading back to my room.

I decided to begin practicing my note-taking abilities as I read. Now it wasn’t as though I weren’t familiar with the overall concept. I had pages and pages of notes about the twins’ adventures, after all, not to mention many other one-off story ideas. But outlining a novel is quite a bit different from trying to make sense of a series of historical events. I tried to remember the shorthand I’d used when I’d been at the village school, but that was over 10 years ago.

Ah well. I’d start by making a list of relevant dates, then move into some of the more important laws that had been passed.

The sun was starting to set by the time I came up for air. I sat back in my chair and stretched, and couldn’t help feeling quite happy with myself. It felt as though I’d just spent my time earning the right to use this room. Of course, I still wasn’t looking forward to having to be physically present at the moot, but supposed I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Of course, Falk would be at the moot, too. That was obviously not something I’d considered when Jon had first offered me this position.

Well, naturally, I’d known the jarl would be there, I just hadn’t known that he was—well. Himself.

Sighing, I rubbed my hands over my face, then through my hair. I needed to get out of this tiny room. I needed to get out of this _palace_. It was too perfect, too beautiful, too—I remembered again what Jon had said about feeling poetically stifled while in the palace and had to finally, reluctantly admit I now understood what he’d meant.

Jon. It was probably too late to walk to the Skeever by myself, and would certainly be too late to return after dinner. But perhaps Jon would like to accompany me. The thought of spending the evening with my friends over dinner and beers shook the anxiety from my bones. I already felt lighter as I got to my feet and went to close the window I’d opened earlier before pulling on my boots and slipping out of the room.

And came face-to-face with the back of someone’s head—not to mention a very fine breast coat. The coat’s owner whirled around, as though he’d been on the verge of leaving, his face slightly flushed and his amber eyes wide when they met mine.

It was the jarl.

“Laurie!” he said. “I was just…”

But then he blinked, and his brow seemed to furrow in concern. That’s when I realized I’d gripped the side of the doorframe as though to brace myself.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, his voice anxious. “Perhaps you should sit, or—I might return later—

“No!” I said, the word practically falling off the tip of my tongue.

He seemed to start. I bit my lip and lowered my hand, consciously straightening. _I’m perfectly healthy_. I tried to project the thought towards him, for I knew better than to try to actually articulate it. I swallowed, and willed the warmth to fade from my cheeks.

“Are you certain?” he asked. “I can come back, truly. I shouldn’t have come upon you without warning.” He closed his eyes, sighing. “Again.”

“…I’m fine,” I managed, even if it the words sounded a little on the breathless side. “Really.”

He opened his eyes again.

They were so beautiful—the color of the setting sun, ringed by the softest brown.

“I’m glad,” he said, a smile finally coming to his face. It made him all the more handsome, and I couldn’t help gazing at the gentle shape of his lips, how perfectly framed they were by the deep red of his beard. His cheeks were flushed again, I realized, and it made his freckles stand out.

“I came to ask you to dinner,” he said.

I think his words took us both by surprise. He blinked, and his blush seemed to deepen. I wanted desperately to reassure him, but of course that was impossible.

“…Oh,” I said instead.

“You don’t have to say ‘yes’,” he said, shifting and clasping his hands behind his back in a gesture that was starting to seem familiar. “I know you said you’d forgiven me, but I—I don’t wish you to feel as if you owe me anything, simply on account of who and what I am. I want you to feel as if you can—

“Yes,” I said, smiling when the interruption seemed to momentarily befuddle him.

“Yes?” Then he started and smiled. “Oh. That’s—wonderful. Then shall I come and retrieve you in, say, about an hour? Will that give you time to get ready?”

“Yes,” I said again, almost laughing, for what was I possibly meant to do to _prepare_ to have dinner?

“Wonderful.”

His smile was so bright, and for a moment we both seemed to just stand there, gazing into one another’s eyes. Then he gave another start, and, backing away a little, gave me another little bow.

“Then—I suppose I’ll see you again soon.”

I nodded, and forced myself to look down; this seemed to give him leave to finally turn away from me, and presumably head back in the direction from which he’d come.

After a second, I slipped back into my room and closed the door. My breath seemed to catch in my lungs as I leaned back against it, and I laid my hand absently over my heart.

A giddy little smile started to spread over my face, my eyes sliding closed. For the first time in my life, I actually had a date. _I_ had a _date._

…A date with the jarl.

My eyes snapped back open.

_I HAD A DATE WITH THE JARL._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now that you've read the chapter, yes, it's Falk's eyes that I've changed, to better match his face claim (posted at the end of Chapter 9) 😋 I can't help it; that guy's eyes are just too beautiful! I can imagine Laurie gazing into those eyes and totally losing his heart.
> 
> So... things are heating up! At least in Laurie's love life 😂 But I promise thing will get just a _little_ more plotty soon, and we may even see some familiar faces ;)


	12. Chapter 12

I made myself sit down at first. Not that I thought there was genuinely any chance that I might faint again—that had been from shock, and the stress it had produced on my heart, and it had been an awfully long time since I’d experienced anything like it. But I knew it wouldn’t hurt to practice calmness, and so I sat down on the edge of my bed, reaching for my old stuffed bear after a second and hugging him to my chest.

I had a date. With Falk. Not the jarl. With Falk.

I groaned and flopped back against the mattress. A date was still a _date_. I could barely speak two sentences in _most_ social situations. How was I going to get through this without looking like a complete idiot?

I opened my eyes and gazed up at the ceiling. Maybe it wasn’t a date after all. Maybe he really was trying to make amends for his…

I sighed. All right, even I wasn’t _that_ naïve.

And it _did_ matter that he was the jarl. It did. Dinner meant conversation. What on earth would we talk about? He was important, and worldly, and wore very fine velvet breast coats that really highlighted the breadth of his shoulders. I was tall and skinny and knew exactly when to start digging for potatoes. What could we possibly have in common? He liked my singing and my playing, and it seemed to amuse him to watch me eat meat pies.

I liked the way his eyes seemed to sparkle when he was happy. I hadn’t thought him handsome at first, but his looks had grown on me. I liked the shape of his lips and the deep red of his hair and beard. I liked how courteous he was to me, and how kind. He didn’t have to walk back with me to the inn that first night, but he had.

I was a romance writer. I wrote about people falling in love, falling into bed with each other, and people seemed to like it. But I’d never felt more like a fraud than I did in that moment, realizing I knew absolutely nothing about how and why two people might be so attracted to one another.

And now I’d wasted a good fifteen minutes moping about it. I sat up again, the thought occurring to me—other than the small one I used for shaving, I didn’t even have a proper looking glass. What if my hair looked ridiculous? What if I had a stain on my clothes and didn’t even realize it? Gods—my clothing. I’d only _brought_ three pairs of trousers, four tunics, and six pairs of underwear—my mothers had made me pack extra—all of which had extra stitching to cover old holes. And I hadn’t washed any of it in a week! What if I _smelled_?

I leapt into action. My backpack Karita had brought with her, I dumped out onto the bed, grabbing the nicest pair of trousers and tunic I had. Then I ran into the washroom and began pouring the water into the tub. A bar of soap would have to suffice for washing; at least it had some pleasant kind of floral scent to it. I then scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, until I felt both tunic and trousers were reasonably clean and fresh-smelling. I rinsed them, turned the water off, and rung them out.

Which was right when the obvious occurred to me: _they’d never be dry in time!_

Five minutes later found me on the second floor of the palace, knocking frantically at Jon’s door.

Relief nearly overwhelmed me when he actually opened the door—I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d been out for the night.

“Laurie!” he said. “What’s wrong?”

I gazed anxiously at him, and _tried_ to tell him, but I just couldn’t. Finally, he grabbed me gently by the arm—I noticed he had ink on his fingers, and I could see a spread of parchment on the floor behind him—and pulled me into his room.

“Sit down,” he said, leading me over towards one of the couches. “Try to breathe, then tell me.”

I nodded and tried to do as instructed, breathing in and out three times, until I felt at least a little less frayed at the edges. Even then, it took several more tries before I could finally get one, single, horrifying word out:

“…Date!” I said, waving my hands desperately for emphasis.

He blinked. “Date?”

Then his eyes widened and his hands reached out to grip me by the arms.

“With Falk?” he asked, and I nodded. “That’s great! Wait—you’re sure? He asked you?”

When I nodded again, he released me, throwing his arms up into the air instead.

“Yes!! Finally! Good for him! To be honest with you, I wasn’t sure he had it in him. He’s been so—” He stopped and looked at me, clearly confused. “Wait. If you have a date with Falk, why are you here?”

Rather than fruitlessly try to answer, I tugged wordlessly at my tunic, then I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling the strands outward and looking at him as if to say, _See??_

“Kyne’s Grace,” said Jon, “You’ve actually become non-verbal. Okay, first, I need you to calm down.”

“…I _AM_ calm!!” I finally managed to blurt out.

He crossed his arms and gave me a look that immediately made me wilt. Sighing, I closed my eyes once again and went through my breathing exercises one more time. Then I reopened my eyes.

“All right,” I said. “…I’m calm. I promise.”

“Good. Now tell me everything about this date. What is it that’s got you so rattled?”

I did my best to explain my dilemma—that I had nothing appropriate to wear to a date with a jarl, and that what I did have was old and probably smelled, and that my nicest tunic and trousers were currently draped over the side of the tub, soaking wet. I complained about my hair, which I admitted hadn’t been trimmed since well before I left home—mostly because my mother had trimmed it. I hadn’t bathed since last night, washing day was over a week ago, and how was I know if my breath smelled or not? What if he should—!!

“Okay,” said Jon, holding both his hands up. “Wow. I have to admit I didn’t expect all of… that. Seriously, I think that’s the most you’ve said since I met you.”

“You’re _mocking_ me?” I cried. “Now?”

“No! I’m not! Sorry.”

He half-crossed his arms then, one hand tugging at the hairs of his short beard.

“First of all, there’s really not much I can do about the smallclothes situation. No, I’m not lending you a pair of mine. Laurie,” he warned when I gave him a pleading look. “No. That would be weird. Plus, look, no offense, but I don’t see _that_ happening tonight. I think Falk has shown he isn’t exactly the fastest-moving man this side of the White River.

“As for your hair… I don’t know? It looks fine to me. Besides, if Falk didn’t like the way you looked, why would he have ever expressed interest in the first place?”

I frowned, and nibbled on my bottom lip. But I had to admit that there was some sense to that.

“Now, about your clothes. Again, I seriously doubt he’ll care what you’re wearing. But if you’re _really_ anxious about it, we can try to go downstairs and see if the tailor’s in. Obviously, she won’t be able to make you anything in time, but she might be able to alter something on hand.”

“A tailor…!” I said. “But I couldn’t afford it!”

“You have a lot to learn about living in a palace. Paying for things is actually considered gauche.” He gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder then and stood up, nodding’ at the door. “Come on.”

By some miracle, the tailor _was_ in. She was awfully confused at first, for she hadn’t a clue who I was, though Jon she knew well enough. _He’s a friend of mine_ , said Jon. _My new assistant. And a friend of the jarl’s_ , he added, raising his eyebrows in a way that made my cheeks burn hot, for the tailor’s eyes widened and she cast me a look of sudden renewed interest. _Not like that_ , I wanted to say, but of course I didn’t, and besides, it was half-true—even if I still found it personally hard to accept.

She took my measurements, quick as can be, tutting under her breath as she did, for my waist was very small, even for an elf’s, and my shoulders too narrow for my height, and I would have felt rather wretched about the whole ordeal if Jon hadn’t nudged me and whispered, “Told me my chest was too small for a Nord’s. Oh, and that I had unusually large knees.”

I snorted before I could stop myself, and he grinned.

“These’ll do in a pinch,” she said, frowning as she lay a pair of trousers across my waist. “I’ll only have to take them in a bit. Now they’ll be too short, but your boots should cover the bottoms, so you’ll not have to worry about that. As for tunics… this one’ll do you well enough, I think, even if the arms are a bit long on account of the extra length in the shoulders. I’ll need to take it in a bit, as well, so just give me a moment. Or I can have them sent up when they’re finished, if you like?”

“No!” I said quickly. “I’ll wait.”

“Well,” said Jon, giving me another friendly shoulder slap, “Looks like you’ve got it from here. Unless you need me to help you get dressed, too?”

“You’re mocking me again,” I said, giving him my most aggrieved look.

He laughed and held his hands up.

“Sorry. I was just in the middle of something, and you know what inspiration’s like. Sometimes you’ve just got to chase it.”

I waved him away, for I did actually know what he meant, and I felt bad for interrupting him. The tailor worked quickly. In less than 20 minutes, she had both garments taken in and ready for me to put on. She wanted me to try them on in front of her so she could make sure her measurements had been precise, but I didn’t think there was time for that. Instead, I thanked her, promised to pay her later (which somehow seemed to confuse her), then hurried back up to my new room.

She’d done a wonderful job, considering what she’d had to work with. The trousers were a soft, dark brown, and fit me very well in the waist and hip, though they did indeed stop just before the top of my ankles. The tunic was loose, but it was far nicer than anything I’d ever owned in my life. My own off-white undertunic peeked out from under the collar (which was tied with a drawstring instead of buttoning) and looked all the dingier in comparison—at least from what I could tell from trying to examining it with the tiny, handheld looking glass I had.

I ran damp fingers through my hair, hoping at least to tame any flyaway pieces, and pulled (definitely not clean) socks and boots on—I thought of going sockless, but then thought of my feet sweating all night, and supposed that would smell even worse. I was just thinking about dabbing on some aftershave when the knock finally came to my door.

My heart did an immediate flip-flop, and it left me briefly breathless. Scowling at myself, I sat back down on the bed for a moment or two more, closing my eyes and telling myself to _BE CALM_ … before eventually rising to my feet, taking another quick breath, and opening the door.

“Oh,” I said, blinking in confusion.

“Not who you were expecting?” asked Soren, his lips twitching with amusement. “Apologies, but the jarl is running a bit late, and he asked me to escort you. If you’ll follow me…?”

Still feeling slightly dumbfounded, I just nodded and closed the door behind me—luckily I had remembered to transfer the room key into the pocket of my new trousers.

“The jarl of Hjaalmarch and her family have just arrived,” said Soren, as we began to make our way down the hallway. “They’ll want to rest, I’m sure, so I doubt he’ll be gone long.”

More moot-related happenings. And things were only going to get more and more hectic. It was disconcerting to think that I would soon be in a room full of the most important people in Skyrim. I could only hope that Jon would prove to be right, and that no one would mind or even notice my presence.

“This way,” said Soren, leading me up yet another set of stairs, for we were already on the third floor. “You’ll be outside, but the garden is walled, and it’s a fairly warm night. Though if you do find it to be too cool, I can have someone send up a cloak or coat.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled. “I told him to bring one, just in case. That way he might have an opportunity to make himself seem all the more gallant when he offered it to you, but he brushed the suggestion off. Told me to mind my own business, if you can believe it!”

He laughed, and I tried to force a laugh in return, even as I was trying not to blush at the thought of the man beside me giving dating advice to the man I would actually be having dinner with tonight. But then we reached the top of the stairs, and he opened the door, stepping aside and gesturing for me to proceed him, so I did.

I took only a few slow steps forward before I had to pause, overcome by the beauty of my surroundings. It was, as Soren had explained, a rooftop garden, though it did not encompass the entire roof of the palace—only a rather small portion, it seemed, and I suspected it was generally only accessible by certain high-ranking members of the household, perhaps even only the jarl himself. The floor was polished stone, and a little stream ran through the middle, culminating in a carefully cultivated little pond. Plants, flowers, ornamental trees, and many other green, growing things were everywhere, and the light breeze brushing the tops of the trees brought with it the sound of the seabirds calling to one another from below. It was a clear night, and the stars twinkled down from overhead, both the moons nearly full. Covered lanterns dotted pockets of the garden, including a few benches—and one small table which had been set for two.

“You can see the sea from there,” said Soren, smiling and pointing towards an opening in the wall, “and the city from there. As I said, he’ll be along shortly. I’ll post a servant at the bottom of the stairs, in case you should need anything.”

He turned to leave, and I stepped forward, anxious to say something, though I wasn’t sure what.

“…Thank you,” I managed.

He nodded, another little smile tugging at his lips—he was a good-looking man, tall and thin, with a graying dark beard and dark hair that curled around his ears. He stepped back into the stairwell, bowing his head to me (playfully, I think), before closing the door behind him.

I swallowed and turned, facing the beautiful garden again.

After a moment, I wandered over towards the first opening, the one Soren had said offered a view of the ocean below. And so it did. I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms over the top, and gazed down at the dark, swirling depths below. I could see the harbor from here, and all of the ships that were docked. It was too far for me to see the actual people, scurrying along on the decks of the ships and the shipyard. I wondered which one belonged to the jarl of Hjaalmarch. Surely, she would have her own ship, one which flew the colors of her hold—not that I knew what those would be. I did recall from my studies this afternoon that the banner of Morthal, the capital city, was a sort of flower, the petals winding like a windmill. Yet if there were shapes on any of the sails of the ships docked below, I couldn’t make them out from this distance.

The breeze was warm, and blew the hair back from my face. I daydreamed what it would be like to come up here to play or write. I would have to weigh the paper down so that it wouldn’t blow away.

Soren was right. I didn’t have to wait very long before I heard the door opening and closing again behind me. I turned around, one hand still resting on the top of the wall… and felt the breath catch in my throat.

He still wore the same handsome, red, velvet breast coat he’d been wearing earlier. This was buttoned over a pale tunic, tied like my own, with the palest blue undertunic peeping out from under it. His trousers were a light tan color and… fit him very well. The thought made me blush, so I looked instead to the sword he had strapped to his belt. Jon always wore one, too, and I knew that there was meant to be some link between Skyrim nobility and martial prowess.

He was clearly looking for me, and when his eyes found mine, his body seemed to relax. He smiled and began to walk towards me.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “This is hardly how I intended to begin making amends.”

I wanted to tell him, once again, that he had nothing to make amends for, but of course I couldn’t. All I could do was smile helplessly at him.

“Have you been waiting very long?” he asked, his expression anxious.

I shook my head, _no_. He seemed to relax again, the smile reappearing on his face. An awkward silence then seemed to fall between us, and I could feel my face warming again because he was just… looking at me. So I turned to face the ocean again, and he did the same. I glanced at him when I saw him look down briefly, and saw that he, too, was blushing.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” he asked after a moment, once we’d both composed ourselves. “I’ve always liked coming up here. Elisif stopped, you know, after Torygg was killed.”

“…Was that her husband?” I asked, keenly feeling my ignorance again, for I now knew that the ‘Elisif’ he’d mentioned to me the first day we’d met had also once been the High Queen of Skyrim—whose husband had been killed before the civil war.

He smiled, the expression sad.

“Yes. She loved him very much. They were like two characters in a fairy tale, though they were not to have their fairy tale ending.”

He was quiet for a moment, then: “I’m sorry. This is a terribly maudlin start to our evening together.” He turned to me again, his eyes dropping briefly before seeming to fix determinedly on my face. “Are you hungry?”

“Oh, Yes,” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly, for he laughed.

“Then… shall we?” He gestured towards the table, and I smiled and nodded.

He pulled the chair out for me to sit, and so I did, though it felt strange to be the recipient of such gallantry. He unbuttoned and removed his breast coat, setting it on the back of his chair, before taking his own seat. He then quickly rolled the sleeves of his tunic and undertunic up to his elbows. I couldn’t help staring at his hands and arms—his hands were large, and the hair on his arms was only a little bit darker than on his face and head.

“It’s a little warmer than I imagined it would be,” he said by way of confession. He leaned over, then, reaching for the top of the covered tray that lay between us. “Would you believe I have absolutely no clue what’s inside? Ah. Is that slaughterfish or salmon? Salmon, I think.”

The fish I could identify well enough, but there was also rice, only it appeared to be mixed with something else. There was a bowl of what looked like soup, and several smaller bowls that I thought might be sauces… I felt immense relief when he offered to serve me, for I hadn’t a clue what I was meant to do with all of that.

It seemed we were to start with a bowl of soap each. I watched carefully to see which spoon he would choose first, then quickly did the same.

“Oh!” he said, laying down his spoon. “Where’s my head. The wine!”

He reached for the bottle of wine sitting at the end of the table with one hand and the pair of wineglasses with the other. He filled mine first, handing it to me, then his own. I took a small sip—I was determined to pace myself—and had to stop myself from taking another, longer sip. It was that good.

“Do you like it?” he asked, turning the bottle so he could glance at the label. “It’s from High Rock, I believe. A Moncruit vintage.” He laughed a little, sheepishly, I thought. “I told Cook you were from High Rock.”

“…It’s good,” I said, trying not to smile, for I didn’t want him to think I was laughing at him. “I like it.”

This seemed to please him, and it made my heart leap rather pleasantly in my chest. I couldn’t imagine why someone like him might be so eager to please someone like me, but if I did as Jon had suggested—only thought of him as ‘Falk’ and not the jarl—it was somehow easier.

“So,” he began, after another brief silence had fallen between us, “Are you looking forward to the moot? You’ll have a bird’s eye view of the most important people in Skyrim bickering with one another like children in the schoolyard.”

“…Not really,” I admitted. “I don’t even really know why Jon asked me. Just because I can write doesn’t mean I’m…” But I trailed off, not sure what it was I was trying to say. I sighed and looked down at my soup. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “That was indelicate of me. I should have guessed that you might be nervous.”

I shook my head.

“No, I’m…” But again, I failed to find the words to express what I was feeling.

Silence fell between us again, and I felt briefly awful—I’d ruined the light mood that had sprung up between us. Maybe, I thought, we really didn’t have anything in common between us after all. He would realize that now, realize that inviting me here to dine with him had been a mistake.

“Laurie…”

When I looked up again, it was to see him looking troubled—it gave me a strange pang of familiarity.

“Forgive me. I’m bungling this, aren’t I?”

I shook my head anxiously, but he only sighed.

“I’m afraid I may be even more out of practice than I realized,” he said. “Which, truthfully, says more about me than I’d rather admit…”

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts, the fingers of his right hand curling a little around his wineglass.

“I fear my fumbling requires an explanation,” he continued. “And you deserve to know the truth about me… You see, it wasn’t very long ago that I was with someone, someone who was very… dear to me. And, well, we were together for a very long time. We kept our relationship a secret at first, but after the war… I thought she… I thought, truly, that it was only the war that had kept us apart, and that after everything were settled… But then we lost the war. And I, somehow, was made jarl.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening beneath his beard.

“She advocated for it. I didn’t want it, but she said it must be me. I believe she was right, though I hope you don’t think me too proud for saying that.”

I shook my head again, too surprised by what he was revealing to say more, though I knew who it was he must be talking about: Lady Bryling.

“She… left me.” He shook his own head a little, as though the thought still left him in a daze. “She said she couldn’t be the wife of a jarl. It wasn’t who she was. And now I know it wasn’t the war that kept us apart. It was all of this. _This_.”

He swept his hand out, as if to indicate everything that was around us—not just the lovely rooftop garden, but the palace, the city, everything. I think, at least to a degree, I understood what he meant.

“Had we been a pair of miners in Karthwasten, I’ve no doubt we would have grown old together,” he said, smiling sadly. “But that wasn’t our lot in life.”

There was a new silence that stretched between us now. One that tasted of sadness and regret, yes, but of bitterness, too.

In a way, I was touched that he had shared this with me, even if it overwhelmed me—as it clearly had overwhelmed him. He needed, I realized, someone to talk to.

But maybe that was all he needed.

“…Are you still in love with her?” I asked, and the horror that washed over me immediately after the words left my mouth was almost oppressive.

“I suppose there is a part of me that always will be,” came the quiet response, and my heart sank even further into my chest. “But even if she were to change her mind—if she were to return to me, I would have to tell her that we could no longer be together.”

“Why?” I asked, even though it was terribly impertinent of me.

“Because what was said and done cannot be unsaid or undone. That’s the long and short of it, I suppose. It’s been a little over a year now, and it would be a dishonor to us both, I think, to act as though nothing had happened. But, even beyond that…”

His fingers played with the stem of the wineglass again.

“I would have to tell her that I’ve met someone. I realize that’s quite forward of me, but I suppose I’ve already told you far more than I intended to tonight.” He laughed, looking down briefly. “As I said, I am rather out of practice.”

It took me longer than it should have to understand what he was saying. When I finally did, I could feel my whole face flush now with heat.

I opened my mouth to ask him if he truly meant _me_ , but the words wouldn’t come. I forced my lips to close, not wanting to look like a gaping fish in front of him, but I think he understood. He smiled, and reached out, almost hesitantly, across the table before gently laying his hand warmly over my own.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. And I believe I’ve spoken too soon. If you like, we may speak of lighter matters.”

I nodded, liking that suggestion very much.

And so we did. We talked about music first. He wanted to know who my favorite composers were, and which were my favorite songs—if I knew any other instruments, and how I had come to be so practiced. I admitted my education was piecemeal, that I’d never had a proper tutor. I was woefully ignorant about music in general, for I hadn’t traveled at all, and the only performances I’d seen had been those that had traveled to my hometown, along with the occasional special trip to Farrun.

He was quite fond of music. He liked to dance, he admitted. I knew only country dances, and had been too shy to stand up at large gatherings. He promised to teach me, tough I couldn’t imagine when and how. I asked him if he’d ever learned to play, and he said no—that there hadn’t ever been time for it. His father had been hard on him as a boy, though not in a cruel way. But he’d been expected to excel at sword-fighting and other forms of combat—which had come in handy when he’d eventually served in the war, many years ago—and the rest of his spare time was spent learning the family business. It seemed his parents had been merchants; they’d had business with the East Empire Company among other things.

He'd sold all of his inheritance off when he’d become jarl, save a few properties.

“I didn’t want to allow myself to be influenced by self-interest,” he said, taking another sip of wine. “There are no laws requiring a jarl to do as much, but—in truth, it may be something I bring to the attention of the other jarls.”

“You said you didn’t wish to become jarl,” I said. “Why did you agree to do it if it wasn’t something you truly wanted?”

I was on my second glass of wine, and my tongue had become not surprisingly looser. But I found I liked talking to him, once we’d both settled down a bit. And I couldn’t help being curious about him—the decisions he’d made, and his reasons for making them.

“Truth be told, because I hadn’t much choice in the matter. Oh, I could have turned my back on the city of my birth and the people I cared about and gone on my merry way—though I suspect it would not have proven to be very merry. But the other candidates—let us just say that they had made themselves no longer viable, and would not have truly been good candidates even before then.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression briefly troubled.

“It pains me to admit this—and perhaps this is proof of my own stubbornness—but Ulfric was right. It was he who recommended me for the job, you see.”

I blinked. “Ulfric Stormcloak!” I frowned, trying to remember what I knew of recent Skyrim politics. “But… wasn’t he your enemy?”

“Before and during the war, yes—and no. I could never have said as such at the time, but I never did entirely disagree with Ulfric’s politics. With his manner of making himself heard, yes.” Here, his eyes went briefly hard, but he seemed to shake the feeling almost as soon as it had appeared. “You should have seen what this city was like before the war. Imperial soldiers everywhere, and that damned General Tullius lording his authority over us all!”

He paused, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. This is hardly appropriate conversation for our dinner together.”

“I did ask,” I said, smiling.

He laughed. “True, and I’ve not quite answered the question, unless I’m mistaken. So, yes, Ulfric was right: I was the right person for the job, and I knew it, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Skyrim respects strength, yes, and I have proven myself in battle, though it was some time ago now. But what this hold needed was stability. I could give them that—and so I have. I believe I can say that I have been a good jarl, though this is entirely through the support of those around me.”

“Like Soren,” I said, thinking of the tall, good-humored man who’d escorted me here.

“Yes, Soren has been a great help. Him and many others.”

We continued talking long after our plates had been cleaned. I learned more about his life before he became jarl, before he had even become steward. He talked about Elisif, and how he still worried about her, though he was clearly doing his best to keep the conversation light. In return, he coaxed me to talk about my own upbringing, about my relationship with each of my mothers—how one was tall and gentle, and had once been a weaver, though now she wove baskets we sold at the market. How the other was small, but fierce and determined, and how she’d thrown a life of soldiering aside to be with my other mother. And how they both loved and supported me, and told me I could do whatever I wanted with my life—though I knew they feared for my safety, on account of my illness. That part I didn’t share.

“They sound like loving, formidable women,” he said, his voice warm. “They must be incredibly proud of you.”

I smiled, a little embarrassed, for I had a feeling he was attempting to compliment me through my mothers.

“They would probably agree with you,” I said, rolling my eyes. “They love to pat themselves on the back when it comes to me, even though I haven’t really amounted to much yet.”

He laughed. “You don’t want to know what I was like at your age. I shudder to think of it.”

I thought he was likely exaggerating, especially as I supposed he must have been close to my age when he’d taken in Elisif. I couldn’t imagine being suddenly responsible for a child—though I knew I would have done all I could to ease the grief she no doubt must have been experiencing over the loss of her parents.

“Well,” he said, sitting back and patting his stomach with one hand—a gesture that was so cute it made me want to melt right there into the floor—“I’m afraid it’s getting late. Unfortunately, I have to be up even earlier than usual to handle some of the more day-to-day goings on, since I believe I’m to begin hosting dinner for all of our illustrious new visitors.”

“Oh,” I said, blinking, for that meant… “Then I won’t be able to see you again?”

His eyes widened, ever so slightly, a faint flush coming to his cheeks—that’s when the full impact of what I’d just blurted out hit me. And now I _really_ wanted to melt into the floor.

“Not at all,” he said, seeming to recover quickly, though a little smile now quirked against his lips. “Granted, I’ll have precious little spare time, but… I can certainly promise to try to see you more often, if… that’s something you would like?”

I swallowed and nodded, not trusting my treacherous tongue to answer for me.

He beamed. “Then… shall I walk you back to your room?”

The walk back was a little awkward. After my inadvertent admission, we neither of us could seem to think of anything to say. It also suddenly occurred to me that we would soon be standing outside my door, facing one another, in what is often considered a rather pivotal point in most romantic stories. I had read enough of them—and _written_ enough of them—to know that much.

And then we were there. I willed my hands not to shake as I fumbled for the key in my pocket. Falk had stepped back, as though to give me room; he had his hands clasped behind his back, but he’d had them like that almost the entire time we’d been walking. Finally, I slipped the key into the lock and turned the knob, opening the door. Then, after taking a quick breath to steady myself, turned to face him.

“Well,” he said, after a few breathless moments passed, during which I naturally couldn’t think of a thing to say. “I suppose I must wish you a good night.”

“…Good night,” I managed. I knew I should thank him for the evening, but didn’t trust myself to try and say more.

He seemed to hesitate, an uncertain look coming to his face. Then he gave a little sigh—not unlike the quick breath I’d just taken myself—and pulled his hands free. He offered one to me. Confused, I reached up, slowly, and took it.

His fingers curled lightly around my own, and he gazed at my hand in his for a moment before lifting it gently towards his lips.

“Good night,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

He released my hand, and I pulled it back—I could feel myself breathing quickly, too surprised to even blush. He smiled—I couldn’t not think of kissing him; I wanted to wrap my fingers around the collar of his tunic and press myself against him—before offering me a slight bow. I swallowed, thought to nod in return—then disappeared behind the door as fast as socially acceptable.

Once alone in my room, I sank down onto my bed as if my legs couldn’t bear to hold me up any longer. I looked at the back of my right hand, marveling that his lips had touched me there. I felt silly… and happy. I closed my eyes and flopped back onto the bed, a happy smile coming to my face. After a moment, I reached for my stuffed bear and hugged it to my chest.

He _liked_ me.

The man from the gardens _liked_ me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure Falk runs to Soren immediately after this and cries, _I have no idea what I’m doing!!!_


	13. Chapter 13

“Dinner, huh?”

Jon’s self-satisfied little smile made me, on some very small level, want to smack it off his face—and I was hardly a violent person. Instead I settled for giving him a _look_ ; he only laughed and clapped me on the back, making me stumble slightly as we walked.

“It was just dinner,” I insisted. “Nothing else happened. We talked, and… that was all.”

Jon had come to retrieve me after I’d had breakfast in my room—it had been the most amazing thing in the world to tentatively peek my head out to see if the servants had been by, and sure enough, there was a covered tray sitting on the little table beside my door. We were off to the meeting room, where the moot was to be held, for he had promised to show it to me in hopes of lessening some of my anxiety.

“Well,” he said, “What did you talk about? Please don’t tell me he bored you with politics. I know he’s a little off his game, but he can’t be _that_ bad.”

“We didn’t talk about politics,” I said, rolling my eyes. _Much_ , I thought guiltily. “We talked about our pasts… about our interests and hobbies…” I smiled, remembering. “He likes to dance. He said he’d teach me.”

Jon laughed. “Not bad, old man, not bad.”

“He isn’t _that_ old,” I said. It was hard to tell, of course, but I really didn’t think he could be much older than forty, considering the timeline of the events of his life he’d laid out to me.

Jon’s teasing was starting to make me grumpy, and I think he could tell, for he chuckled and gave me a lighter pat on the back and stopped pressing me for details. He did tell me to go easy on Falk, and to not expect him to move too quickly.

“He’s a very deliberate man, so far as I can tell,” said Jon. “And I don’t think he’s seen anyone at all since Bryling. Their separation hit him pretty hard. I gather from Soren that he was even hoping to start a family with her.”

“I just… don’t want to assume anything,” I said. No, that wasn’t quite right. “I don’t want to _expect_ anything. I just…”

But I didn’t know how to say that I had no experience with this sort of thing at all—that I was terrified of doing or saying something wrong and ruining the whole thing. My biggest fear, I think, was assuming too much: assuming that the person I really liked returned my feelings. I wanted to believe that this was the case. Last night had been a dream come true, and the kiss at the end, even if it _was_ only on my hand, ought to have reassured me. And it did. But I also felt a strange sort of fear every time I thought about being alone with him again, and I couldn’t quite understand why.

“You’re just nervous,” said Jon. “And you can’t stop thinking about him being a jarl, which, if you remember, I told you not to do.” He gave me a wink, and I rolled my eyes at him again. “You know he likes you now. Just go with it.”

“…I’ll try,” I said, even as I silently vowed to not get too far ahead of myself.

The meeting room was towards the front of the palace, in a section of the building referred to as the Pelagius Wing. It had once had a reputation for being haunted, or so Jon told me, but that had naturally proven to not be true. Still, there were no living quarters here, only various offices, sitting rooms, and meeting areas, and younger, newer staff members often dared one another to sleep here overnight.

“So if you ever hear someone screaming, it’s probably a maid who’s been pranked by some of her fellows,” said Jon. “I hear it’s a popular meeting place for two people who don’t want to be found out, too, if you know what I mean. Good thing Falk isn’t ashamed to date a farm boy, or your first time together _might_ end up being on that couch over there.”

“Very funny,” I said, giving him another look.

He laughed. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, this is it, I think.

He pushed open a pair of double doors, entering the room first, then holding one of the doors open so I could follow.

It was an immense room, though I hadn’t anticipated it being otherwise. It was on the southernmost side of the palace, and the entire southern wall was made up of windows that looked out onto the mouth of the river, the harbor, and the far shore. There was a large fireplace at each end, but both were currently unlit. If the sun were out, as it was today, the windows reflected the light and kept the room comfortably warm. Most impressive was the large table, which stretched the expanse of the room. I’d never seen one so large, but I supposed it had to be to hold the representatives from every hold in Skyrim.

“It’s even bigger than the one they used in Whiterun,” said Jon. “Believe it or not, they had to have this one built especially. Jarl Ulfric sent the measurements so it could be constructed.”

I wondered how Falk had felt about that—receiving mysterious orders to build a table from a man he clearly still disliked. I would have asked, but had a feeling it would only be another opportunity for Jon to tease me about him.

“As soon as I hear from Soren where we’ll all be sitting, I’ll let you know,” he said. “Right now, I’m as in the dark as you are. But I have a feeling that something really big is about to happen.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, his words jolting me out of my reverie. “…Like… war?”

Jon shrugged. “I have no idea. Both the Empire and the Dominion have been relatively silent since the end of the civil war here. ‘Fina sends some of our people down south to patrol the border—she doesn’t trust the Falkreath jarl; the man’s an idiot—and so far as I know, we haven’t seen anything to suggest Cyrodiil even notices let alone cares what we’re doing. Oh—shoot.”

He looked at me then, and I guess I must have had a rather anxious expression on my face, because he turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders, our eyes locking.

“Hey, even if war _does_ break out, it won’t be from the north or the west. So you’ll be fine.”

I swallowed. “…And Farrun?”

“Farrun?” He frowned at me, lowering his hands. “Your parents—of course. Well, I’m afraid I don’t know much about Farrun. Do you know where they stand on the political spectrum?”

“Neutral, I think.”

“That’s good. That means everyone’s going to either ignore them or try to court them. And if war does happen, they’ll have plenty of time to choose a side—which would give your mothers plenty of time to come here, if necessary.”

That was a relief to hear. I would do my best as his assistant, but politics had never been a subject of particular interest to me, so it was sometimes hard wrapping my brain around it all.

Nevertheless, I was still determined to earn my keep. Afterward, I suggested we return to his room—or the library, if he preferred—so he could help quiz me on contemporary Skyrim politics. I wasn’t quite sure what else we could do to prepare for the moot together, but I thought it a good idea to at least try to bounce ideas off one another. To my surprise, he readily agreed. Of course, I remembered then that he was just as nervous about this as I was, if not more. And I began to suspect that, if anything, just having someone he liked and trusted sitting beside him would probably help relieve some of his anxiety.

I spent the next few days thus dividing my time between helping (and being helped by) Jon and working on my own writing. When I wasn’t with him in his room, I was in my own, going over the edits and suggestions _The Red Rose_ editors had included with their letter and trying to work on another story for Ullia and Betia. I played my lute, as well, mostly on my windowsill, which was beginning to be my favorite spot to play—though I never sang, of course, for I did occasionally see others strolling through the garden.

I never saw Falk, and I supposed Soren was also too busy for such things. Jon wasn’t much for strolling in general, at least not through pretty, ornamental gardens; if he wasn’t in his room writing, sharing hosting duties with Falk, or studying with me, he was gone, drinking and making merry at the Skeever or some other pub or inn. I think it was his way of relieving tension, and of dealing with his own loneliness here in the aptly named capital of Haafingar Hold.

I made the bold move one afternoon to take my writing to the rose garden. It was a cool day, but a still one, and I wouldn’t have to worry about my work being thrown into disarray by the wind. Jon had had to cut our study session short that mid-morning to have lunch with Jarl Sorli’s husband; Lady Tilda; and Lord Harrald, Jarl Laila of Riften’s son and heir—I’d never seen him look so glum. I’d thought to go down to the Skeever and visit with Karita, but I wanted to get some writing done. Inspiration had struck, and I knew how to begin resolving things between Francesca and her ship captain lover, once and for all.

I brought some of my own lunch to snack on as I worked. The palace servants left me far too much food, and I hoped they enjoyed whatever I didn’t eat, but I was happy to munch on the remains of my cold chicken sandwich and the most incredibly ripe peach I’d ever tasted before in my life. I was still absently licking the juices from the tips of my fingers while tapping thoughtfully at my manuscript with the pencil in my other hand—I’d just had Francesca reject the ship captain’s offer of marriage, but something about the scene still didn’t feel right—when I noticed a now familiar figure walking towards me.

He was wearing a dark blue overcoat today, his tunic beneath it a lighter, softer blue. The sunlight made his hair and beard bright red, and his eyes seemed to shine when he realized I’d noticed his approach. A warm, pleasant feeling rushed over me, and I felt my heart briefly quicken in my chest—it left me breathless in a way that wasn’t at all related to my condition.

“Good afternoon,” he said, taking a seat on the far side of the stone bench I was sitting on—I was sitting sideways, with my back against a sturdy young tree whose roots had somehow not unsettled the bench itself. “I hope I’m not disturbing you…?”

I smiled and shook my head, _no_.

He gazed at me for a moment before seeming to consciously lower his eyes, down at the manuscript in my lap.

“I see you’re writing,” he said, nodding at the fruits of my labor. “May I ask what it is you’re working on?”

I wasn’t quite sure how to answer, as I wasn’t exactly ready to admit to the man I liked that I wrote romance stories—and was now publishing them in what was apparently a rather infamous romance magazine.

“…A story,” I finally said.

His eyebrows rose a little, presumably at my reticence.

“You don’t wish to share it with me?” he asked, lips quirking.

“No,” I said, smiling and curling my knees in closer to my chest as though to hide the words in my lap. “At least not yet.”

“Sometime in the future, then.”

I bit my lip, the sudden thought occurring to me—this was the first time he’d seated himself beside me without asking for my permission. Something about that realization tickled me, and I had an awfully hard time keeping the smile from my face.

“What is it?” he asked, smiling in return.

“Nothing. It’s just… this is the first time you’ve sat down. Without asking me about it first.”

He seemed to start, his eyes widening in alarm, and made as though to get hastily to his feet. I lost my composure then and finally laughed, reaching out without thinking and pulling him back down to the bench. The material of his coat was soft and thick, yet I could still feel the muscle of his arm beneath it.  
  
“Stay!” I said. “I was only joking.”

He sat back down, an abashed look on his face.

“Well,” he said, “I would chastise you for teasing your jarl, but as you are not technically my subject, I suppose that means I haven’t the authority to do so.”

“So… I could commit a crime,” I said, trying (and once again failing) to hold back my own smile. “… and you couldn’t do anything about it.”

“It would likely depend on the severity of the crime, and whether or not I was willing to make an international incident out of it. Espionage, for example, I might look into. Teasing a jarl…”

I smiled and looked down at my lap.

“Now _you’re_ teasing _me_ ,” I accused.

“And luckily there are no laws against that, either. Though I wonder if I reveal too much about myself if I were to admit that I enjoy being teased by you.”

I looked up at him again; I could feel my face flush hot at his words. His own boldness seemed to embarrass him, for he smiled and cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. It gave me the opportunity to study his profile. I supposed, being a Nord, he couldn’t help the size of his nose. The sunlight made his eyelashes stand out, and I tried not to think of kissing each of the freckles on his cheek. His lips I knew better than to study for too long.

The sight of another figure approaching us shook me from my musings. Falk must have noticed, for his eyes met mine again briefly before looking quickly over his shoulder. Then he sighed.

“I should have known,” said Soren, coming to stand before his jarl, his arms folding over his chest.

The look Falk gave him was reminiscent of a beleaguered naughty child.

“Don’t glower at me, Soren. It makes me feel bad about myself. Am I late?”

“Nearly. That’s why I’m here—to make sure you aren’t.” He glanced at me, a little smile coming to his face. “Hello, Laurie.”

“Hello,” I said.

“Did Thongvar send over any edits to our suggestions?” asked Falk.

“No, but it’s my understanding that his wife still hasn’t looked it over. She _is_ related to his sister-in-law, after all.”

“Wonderful.” He sighed and looked at me, a sad smile coming to his face. “And off I go again, I’m afraid. I hope you can forgive me for interrupting your writing?”

“Of course,” I said, and if I blushed yet again, it was over how easily the words had slipped off my tongue.

He stood up, then, adjusting his coat and tunic absently. “Well, then.” He smiled, and offered me his usual little bow. “Until I can spare another minute or two to sneak away from Soren.”

I couldn’t help the little laugh that now slipped out of me, and it seemed to please him. He gave me another little smile and turned to go, Soren shaking his head and smiling at us both. For some reason, I thought of Jon’s teasing, earlier that week—and before I could stop myself, set my manuscript aside and got hastily to my feet.

“Wait,” I said.

Both men turned around, questioning looks on their faces.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked.

Falk blinked. “Of course. Always.”

I didn’t miss the amused little look Soren shot him.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek—it was doubtlessly a rude thing to ask, but I found myself wanting to know—simply because I still knew so _little_ about him, and I found I couldn’t help wanting to learn more.

“Can I ask… how old you are?”

Both he and Soren seemed taken aback by the question. Soren recovered first, giving me a faux scandalized look that made me smile sheepishly and briefly lower my eyes.

“…Forty-four,” said the jarl.

I looked up again, surprised. _Forty-four_ … it was a little older than I had imagined, and probably meant I hadn’t a leg to stand on the next time Jon teased me about his age. I must have been frowning, for the smile had begun to fade from his face, and his brow actually furrowed slightly, as though he were concerned.

“Not _too_ old, I hope?” he said, and I could tell from his tone of voice that he was trying to be light, but that he was genuinely worried.

I gave him a helpless smile. He was, in that moment—and in so many others, only I had been too hesitant to admit it, even to myself—utterly adorable.

I shook my head, _no_. Then—I’m not exactly sure _what_ came over me. Maybe it was because I never _could_ seem to think of the right thing to say. The next thing I knew, I had closed the distance between us, laid my hand gently on the blue velvet of his arm, and leaned forward, brushing my lips against his cheek.

I don’t know which of us was more surprised. He blinked back at me with wide eyes, one hand coming up to cover his cheek. This close, I could see the blush rising to his face, too, beginning to settle faintly over the bridge of his nose.

Heart pounding, I turned away from him, fumbling, bending to gather my materials into my arms.

“Good luck with your meeting,” I said quickly. Then, without looking at either of them again, turned and hurried off in the opposite direction.

I made my way through the first archway I encountered, moving until I was inside the interior of the palace before pausing to lean back against a nearby wall. I closed my eyes, leaned the back of my head against the cool stone behind me… and let out a deep, shuddering breath.

I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. It hadn’t even been a proper kiss. I’d kissed his cheek, like a shy youth in a story. And on top of _that_ —I’d practically run away afterward! I brought my manuscript up and hid my face behind it briefly, a low whine escaping me.

“All right, sir?” asked a passing servant, her arms full of laundry.

“…I’m fine,” I said, hurrying away again as fast as I could.

I found my way back to my room, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t try to visit me again that day. I had no idea how I would have reacted if he did. I wouldn’t have put it past myself to attempt to crawl out the window the second I heard someone knocking.

But he didn’t. Just in case, as soon as my dinner came, I took it and fled to the library, for I felt certain jarls didn’t have time to linger around in libraries. It would save me from having to speak to Jon, too, should he come knocking with an invitation to head downtown to the Skeever. There was no _way_ I would be able to face him—let alone Karita!—without either of them getting the truth out of me. And then? Let the teasing begin.

Which, naturally, is exactly what happened the following day.

It was a gloomy afternoon, the heavily overcast skies threatening rain, and a great deal of it. The three of us were in Jon’s room; Jon and I were purportedly studying together—he was currently helping me to understand the complicated relationship that existed between High King Ulfric and Jarl Laila, and how it affected both their holds—but Karita had shown up as well. This was her first time in Jon’s room, and she’d spent a great deal of time exclaiming over the fancy rugs and curtains and furniture and even the linens in the washroom. But now she had settled herself on one of the couches, her legs folded under her, and was absently picking at Jon’s lute.

“So… they hate each other,” I said, frowning, trying to understand.

“No, it’s not really… well, more like they respect each other, but don’t really like each other because they feel confident the other is always trying to outwit them. Which is probably true.”

“I hear her son is having an affair with Lady Elisif,” said Karita.

“Who told you that?” asked Jon, rolling his eyes. “Patrons again?”

“Yep. And they were right about the last rumor, weren’t they?” She sent a pointed look in my direction.

“…But… that wasn’t true at all,” I protested. “He wasn’t pining. At least not for me.”

“Okay, Laurie,” said Jon, “Even I have to admit that one was true. Maybe ‘pining’ wasn’t the right word, but he was definitely looking for you.”

Well, now I felt betrayed.

“A few days ago you said Karita was wrong,” I said, frowning. “Now she’s right?”

“A few days ago, all I knew was that you had a crush on the jarl. Now Soren tells me you’re all he talks about.”

“What?!” said Karita, laughing and leaning forward. “Tell us more!”

“…Please, don’t,” I said, wishing desperately it were socially acceptable to hide my suddenly hot face under my tunic.

“Did you know he took Laurie to dinner?” said Jon. “Up on the rooftop. Very romantic, Soren said, pulled out all the stops.”

“Laurie!!” said Karita, “How could you keep this from me?!”

“And yesterday, Laurie kissed him.”

“WHAT?!”

“…I didn’t!” I wailed, finally giving up and grabbing a pillow so I could hide myself behind it.

“On the cheek,” said Jon. “Apparently, Falk was floating on air all day afterward. He’s actually been in such a good mood these past few days that Soren says he’s in danger of agreeing to whatever it is Ulfric wants.”

“Oh, great,” said Karita. “So the fate of our city is now in the hands of a lovesick jarl.”

“Pretty sure he was exaggerating,” said Jon, laughing. “Falk has a pretty level head on his shoulders. And he’s a more experienced statesman than I think he likes to admit.”

“Oh, I _bet_ he’s experienced,” said Karita, sighing. “I love an older man.”

This was too much. I told them they were both being cruel, lay down with a moan, and covered my head completely with the pillows. Their laughter was interrupted by a firm knocking at the door. I heard Jon get up and make his way towards the door, and of course it occurred to me too late that if it were a certain person, I would be beyond humiliated for him to find me lying on my back with my face buried under pillows. So I sat up quickly.

It wasn’t Falk, though. It was Soren.

“Soren!” said Jon, gesturing for him to enter. “We were just talking about you.”

Karita snorted, and I gave Jon a desperate look, but Soren only smiled at us.

“Oh?” he said. “Good things, I hope.” He turned back to Jon, though, before anyone could reply. “I’ve news. Jarl Ulfric’s ship has been sighted and will be docking within the hour. Falk asks that you join him in riding down to the harbor to greet him.”

“Me!” said Jon. “Ulfric’s liable to consider that an insult more than anything.”

“Doubtful, my lord. But Falk would appreciate the support, nonetheless.”

Jon started. “Of course. He’s in the stable yards?” Soren nodded. “I’ll join him immediately.”

“You may wish to bring a cloak,” said Soren, as Jon quickly strapped on his swordbelt. “I’m afraid it’s likely to rain.”

Jon nodded, pausing to do so before bidding the two of us good-bye and hurrying out the door. Karita and I exchanged a glance, all of our earlier merriment subsided.

“I guess… it’s really starting to happen,” I said, trying not to feel nervous—it didn’t help that Jon seemed to turn pale every time he discussed being in the same room with Ulfric Stormcloak.

“It is, indeed,” said Soren. He paused, then gave me a somewhat sly smile. “By the way, you can see the harbor quite clearly from the rooftop. If one were to go up to the gardens, and search through the trunk by the door, they’d likely find a spyglass or two. The door should be unlocked.”

And with that, he offered us a polite bow and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Karita and I exchanged a look.

“…Do you want—

“You bet I do!” she said, both of us rising to our feet. “Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HAPPENING 😱😱


	14. Chapter 14

The first thing we did was borrow a cloak each from Jon’s closet—I was sure he wouldn’t mind us rummaging through his things, plus I didn’t think we were in danger of encountering anything too personal in a coat and cloak closet. I led Karita upstairs, then, servants eying us curiously as we passed them.

“Hold on a minute,” said a gruff voice behind us, just before we’d reached the short stairwell that led up to the roof.

We turned, and I reached down, gripping Karita’s hand tightly when a patrolling guard approached us.

“Who are you, and what business do you have up here?” he asked.

I don’t know what would have happened had I been on my own. My throat had already seized up, and I knew there wasn’t a chance in Oblivion that I would be able to get a single word out, let alone explain myself the way I was being asked to.

Luckily, I _wasn’t_ on my own.

“I’m Karita, and this is Laurie.” She held my clasped hand briefly up. “You might have heard of him? He’s dating the jarl. We’re off to the rooftop to watch High King Ulfric’s ship dock. We’ve special permission to do so from Soren himself.”

The guard blinked, clearly taken aback by such a straightforward answer. His eyes wandered over to me, and, after a moment, his eyebrows rose slightly.

“Oh,” he said, “So _you’re_ the elf. They told us you were living in the palace now.”

I wanted to wilt right then and there. Who was _they_? And why did all the palace guards seem to know, let alone care, that I was living here now?

“Just as quiet as they said,” he went on. “Well, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it, miss,” he added, frowning at Karita. “But I’ll follow you up, if you don’t mind. I’ll keep out of your way, but I fear it’s my duty to do so. I’m sure the jarl would understand.”

I nodded, just relieved that he seemed to believe her—or at least enough to not detain us.

The sky was heavy with rain clouds, thunder rumbling overhead as we stepped out onto the rooftop. There was no rain yet, and no sign of lightning, so there was little danger, at least. The guard stayed by the door while Karita and I made our way over to the trunk Soren had indicated and opened it.

It was filled with the sorts of things you might expect a rooftop garden trunk might be full of. Pots, blankets, gardening tools, seed packets… and, after a bit of digging, we were able to find a silk drawstring bag holding three spyglasses. We took two, then hurried over towards the opening in the wall that faced the harbor.

“See anything yet?” asked Karita. “Divines, I don’t miss living by the sea.”

“…No,” I murmured, temporarily in awe of what I was seeing—I’d never used a spyglass before, and it was quite breathtaking to be able to see far off waves rolling before me as if I were right on top of them. “…And aren’t you still living by the sea?”

“Sure, just not on top of it the way I was in Dawnstar. I’ve almost forgotten what fish guts smell like, Dibella be praised.”

I lowered my spyglass, and after a while, so did she.

“So!” she said, leaning back on her elbows against the wall and surveying the garden. “This is where he wined and dined you.”

“…This is where we had _dinner_ ,” I corrected, frowning. My eyes slid towards the guard, who still standing by the door, and doing a very good job of pretending not to watch or listen to us, too.

“And we’re not _dating_ ,” I added, lowering my voice and feeling my cheeks warm at the assertion. Even denying it out loud was embarrassing. “I wish you hadn’t said it like that.”

“Why? Is he seeing anyone else?”

“You know what I mean,” I said darkly. “We had _one_ dinner together. I’m not...”

But I trailed off, unable to find the words as usual.

“Did you know you push your hair behind your ear when you talk about him?”

I looked up, startled.

She grinned.

“All right, all right. I know I tease you about him. Maybe too much. But can you blame me? You’re dating the _jarl_.”

I winced and closed my eyes, my hands covering my warm cheeks. I didn’t know how else to tell her that her words were embarrassing me, to the point that I couldn’t really enjoy the conversation anymore. How could I explain how anxious I was? How terrified I was that I’d say the wrong thing the next time we met, or that I was reading too much into everything he said or did?

“…I can’t… can’t…” _…believe I kissed him_ , I tried to finish, but couldn’t.

When I opened my eyes again, I noticed her looking at me, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Her lips were curled up into a little smile, though, so I knew she wasn’t angry or laughing at me.

“Laurie~,” she eventually said, singing my name in a gentle way that made me blush, “have you ever had a boyfriend before?”

“…No,” I said, averting my eyes to my boots and wishing fervently I could control the temperature beneath my own skin, just _once_.

“Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”

But I shook my head, mostly because I knew I wouldn’t be able to articulate my answer.

“Well, don’t let that shyness of yours keep you from being happy. You hear me? And look, I’ll try not to tease you so much, all right? At least not until things get serious between you two. But I bet you just tickled the toes in his boots when you kissed him. Jon said as much, didn’t he?”

He had. Something about Falk ‘walking on air’ for the rest of the day. The thought brought a sheepish smile to my face, and now I felt silly all over again for running away from him.

Karita’s sigh pulled me from my thoughts.

“We should’ve brought our instruments,” she said. “This looks like it’ll be a while.”

I silently agreed, though eventually we returned to messing with our spyglasses. We made a game out of it, I’m almost embarrassed to say. She would say that she’d spotted something through hers and would give me hints until I found what she was looking at, then I’d do the same for her. She was much better at it than me since she knew the city a lot better than I did. I also privately enjoyed ‘spying’ on folk from above (it wasn’t really _spying_ , per se, as they were all in full public view anyway). I watched a couple kiss in a doorway before one disappeared inside; I saw a boy wrestling with a great, big dog, a woman pausing to scratch a donkey’s forehead after loading her goods onto its back. These were the little things that made people who they were, and I supposed I noticed them simply because I enjoyed writing about them.

I don’t think it was as long as an hour before we finally saw the high king’s ship pass beneath the palace and enter the harbor, but it was nearly that. We could see the emblem of the great bear on the blue sails. I searched for a great figure striding the ship’s decks—the infamous High King of Skyrim—but saw only sailors busy with their work.

It took time for the ship to maneuver towards the docks, for the ship to be anchored. The sails were furled, and sailors on both ends began working to get the gangplank set up.

“Look,” said Karita, “There’s Jon and the jarl.”

They were standing on the docks, the wind whipping their cloaks about them. I could tell that Falk had his hands clasped behind his back while Jon’s lay at his sides, his fingers wiggling anxiously. Finally, both of them seemed to straighten, and—

“That must be Ulfric,” said Karita. “Looks average enough to me, for all his fancy clothes.”

I privately disagreed, though perhaps I simply still wasn’t used to Nords. Ulfric Stormcloak—if the figure striding down the gangplank really was him—was tall and broad, the sword strapped to his waist intimidating in its size and design. He had long, blond hair that was partially pulled back, and I couldn’t see his face, but I suspected he was bearded as most Nord men were. It was difficult to make out facial expressions from this distance, even with the spyglass, but I thought Falk appeared to be doing his best to keep his own expression neutral. Ulfric came to stop before him and Jon… a few words were spoken, and both Falk and Jon seemed to start. Falk turned to Jon and, laying a hand on his shoulder, said something. Jon nodded and hurried away.

“What in the world…?” said Karita.

Ulfric disappeared back up the gangplank, and soon we began to understand. Jon eventually returned leading a horse, though he now waited at the edge of the docks, since the animal doubtlessly wouldn’t have walked willingly over the water. Ulfric also returned—only this time he was carrying something—no, some _one_.

“Is that…?”

“…Prince Casien,” I murmured, for I couldn’t imagine who else the High King of Skyrim might have carried so gently down the gangplank.

“Lord Casien,” Karita corrected.

The figure was small and wrapped in a blanket of some sort, but I could see a head of wild black hair peeking out over the king’s shoulder. Together, Falk and Ulfric made their way up the docks. Ulfric set the figure down, paused to hand the blanket to Falk, then helped his husband onto the horse. Falk handed the blanket back up to Casien, who dutifully wrapped it around himself again, until nothing but his head and boots remained visible. Then, together, Ulfric taking the horse’s lead from Jon, they all began walking back up towards where the rest of the horses presumably waited.

“I’d _heard_ about that,” said Karita, both of us lowering our spyglasses once the figures were out of sight. “Lord Casien is said to be a sickly little thing. I could almost feel sorry for him, if he weren’t rich and married to a king!”

_A sickly little thing_. I lay my hand over my heart without thinking—to be chronically ill was to also at times be a chronic object of pity. I glanced at Karita, but I don’t think she’d made the connection.

It finally began to rain. We pulled the cloak hoods over our heads and hurried to replace the spyglasses, the poor guard probably relieved to be able to go back inside as well.

“They’ll probably be riding right up to the palace!” said Karita excitedly. “If we hurry, we can catch them!”

So we did. Karita’s excitement I supposed was related to being so near both the jarl and the High King of Skyrim. I was less enthusiastic, considering I’d soon be stuck in a room with the man, along with the rest of Skyrim’s monarchs. But I couldn’t deny that my insides fluttered pleasantly at the thought of seeking Falk again, even if it was only to observe him riding past with Jon and the high king.

The guard apparently decided we weren’t a threat after all and allowed us to run off on our own. Karita dragged me all the way back downstairs, then outside into the gardens at the front of the palace.

“Well, look who it is!”

I whirled around and blinked at the two smiling guards standing on either side of the palace main doors. It took me a moment, but I soon realized that they were the same two who had been on duty that first day I’d come to find Jon and tell him about my acceptance in Ullia and Betia’s journal.

“You know you cost us a septim a piece,” said the woman.

“That’s right,” said the man. “Captain was offering a septim each for the guard who found the jarl’s new friend.”

“Laurie doesn’t owe you two _anything_ ,” said Karita, surprising me.

Both the guards look surprised.

“Oh, no, miss,” said the man, “We didn’t mean it like that.”

“Just having a laugh at the lad’s expense,” said the woman. “Not to mention our own.”

“…They were very nice to me,” I said to Karita, hoping to soothe her. “Though… I wouldn’t have believed them if they’d told me…” I paused, feeling my cheeks flush. “…if they’d told me he was looking for me.”

“Well, he was,” said the man. “And now I suppose he’s found you.” He gave me a wink that made me want to pull the hood of my cloak all the way up over my face.

“You two should look sharp,” said Karita. “The jarl’s on his way back, and he’s bringing High King Ulfric with him.”

This seemed to alarm them both, and they each turned to straightening their uniforms and lamenting that they’d been assigned door duty on a day like today. They were saying something about ‘shouting’ that made no sense, but Karita hurriedly pulled me away, dragging me further into the pretty little garden that lined both sides of the walkway leading up to the palace—though not far _enough_ away, in my opinion.

“Falk will _see_ me!” I said, as we huddled under what looked like a beautiful, white-blooming ornamental pear tree. “I’ll look like an idiot!”

“No, you won’t,” she said. “Divines, it’s really coming down! I’m soaked to the bone!”

So was I, despite the pear tree’s best efforts to shield us from the downpour. Eventually, I convinced Karita that it wasn’t worth it—there was no guarantee that they would enter through the main palace doors anyway; there could very well be a side entrance near the stables, and considering the rain and Lord Casien’s apparent poor health, they would likely want to get him inside as soon as possible.

So we returned to Jon’s room, ostensibly to return the cloaks (which we had to lay over the side of the bathtub, for they were thoroughly soaked). We then built up the fire and sat down before it, holding the bottoms of our tunics out towards the flames and fanning them gently. Karita wanted me to rummage through Jon’s closet again and find something for us to change into, but I felt this was going too far. We probably shouldn’t have even come back here while he wasn’t here.

But it was Jon—I should have known he wouldn’t have minded. He finally returned, nearly an hour later, and though he was surprised to see us, he didn’t seem at all annoyed to find us squatting in his sitting room as if we belonged there.

“Well?” said Karita, “What happened? Tell us everything!”

“There isn’t much to tell,” said Jon, flopping down onto one of the sofas. “Casien’s in his room, resting, and Ulfric is with Falk. Divines know what they’re discussing, but I get the feeling that whatever it is Ulfric’s planning, Falk actually knows about it—or if he didn’t before, he does now.”

“…So that _was_ Lord Casien,” I said, thinking of the small figure wrapped in the blanket.

“You saw him?” asked Jon, clearly confused.

“Oh, Soren told us to run up onto the roof and spy on you all with a pair of spyglasses right after you left,” said Karita. “It would have been lovely, if the rain hadn’t started pouring down on top of our heads.”

Jon snorted, then seemed to be trying to hide the smile that was threatening to spread over his face.

“…What?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s just—Soren’s a big fan of you two, you know. You and Falk, I mean. I think he’s been working hard to—well, I shouldn’t say anything. But I guess I’m not surprised he told you to go up onto the roof again.”

“Don’t make Laurie blush,” said Karita. “I’ve promised to stop teasing him about his love life. Well, to tease him less.”

“I made no such promise,” said Jon, grinning.

I rolled my eyes. “So… Is Lord Casien going to be all right?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry. I should have said. Apparently, he’s recovering from an illness, one that struck again on the journey here. They’d thought he’d been fully recovered, but evidently not. Ulfric is, ah, a little on the overprotective side, and what with the rain and all, I guess he didn’t want him sickening yet again. But, as I said, he’s sleeping now—in fact I only left him a little while ago. He was very interested in…” He glanced at me, his lips twitching. “Well, recent goings-on at the palace.”

Karita laughed. “Jon Battle-Born! You’re worse than I am.”

“I don’t know. I’d say most of the time he doesn’t even realize it when I’m teasing him.”

I blinked, realizing now they were both talking about me. “What?”

But they only laughed and refused to tell me, Karita reiterating her promise to be nicer to me about my relationship— _she_ used that word, not me. Jon then informed us that he had to get ready for dinner downstairs. We were welcome to stay here, but Karita needed to eventually get back to the inn. Jon insisted on sending a guard back with her, just in case— _I don’t like the thought of either of you traveling alone after dark, not after what happened to Laurie_ —and despite Karita’s insistence that she could handle the knife that she kept strapped to her belt, he eventually managed to convince her to let him do it: but only if the guard assigned to escort her back home was _very_ cute, she said.

I returned to my own room. But returning to an empty room—or rather, spending the entire _day_ in an empty room, as had happened once or twice already—wasn’t as pleasant as I once would have thought. Lately, if I wasn’t with Jon, I was definitively alone—dinner dates with a certain someone notwithstanding. I was a loner by nature, or at least had always thought of myself as such. But I found that I missed—well, I missed my parents, of course, desperately. But more than anything, I missed having someone to come home to at the end of the day. Back home, I might have spent the entire day doing chores about the farm, taking little breaks to eat and play and write. But I always returned home by dinner time, and there were my parents waiting for me.

I thought about perhaps writing another letter. After all, a great deal had happened since my last letter. But I supposed I should give them time to respond to the first two I’d sent. And I could only hope that they’d received the second one very quickly after that first, awful note I’d written.

I thought of maybe writing (or editing), but—I think I needed a break. I’d been working a great deal since I’d first settled in here at the palace. The relative isolation certainly helped with that. But I knew from experience that if I pushed myself too much I’d effectively burn out. And now that I had actual deadlines, I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

I could play—but the thought of doing so made me feel oddly guilty, for in a way I’d really neglected my playing since coming to Solitude. Oh, I still _played_ , technically, either with Karita or alone. But I hadn’t really been focusing on my progress as a musician, not since I’d begun focusing all my creative efforts on my writing. I hadn’t learned a new song in ages, for instance.

Well, at least now I had something to do. I left my room and headed once again for the library, for I couldn’t imagine where else I might encounter new sheet music. I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, for the thought of running into the infamous High King of Skyrim was not a pleasant one—not that I supposed Skyrim jarls wandered palaces indiscriminately, but the library was on the second floor, so the likelihood of running into wandering nobility was significantly increased.

And, of course, I was anxious not to run into one jarl in particular. I still felt quite silly for running away after I’d kissed him, so naturally the solution was to attempt to avoid him completely.

Dinner was waiting on the side table outside my door when I returned. After I ate, I put my research to good use. The rain was still coming down fairly hard, so I had to content myself with sitting on the floor in front of the cheerfully burning fireplace and trying my hand at centuries old Nordic ballads.

The sun had long since gone down by the time I paused to make myself my nightly tea. I turned to the one collection of Altmeri songs I’d been able to find. The fingering was a great deal more complicated than anything I’d practiced before—for a moment, I was brought very low once again, thinking about how I’d failed to audition for the college. But then I thought I could just ask Jon or Karita to help me, and my mood brightened once again.

And then I was interrupted in the middle of an exceptionally difficult passage that I had finally gotten the hang of—by a knock at the door.

I went immediately still. I thought it might be Falk—but it was so late! Surely, he wouldn’t knock on the door of… someone he was growing fond of… at such an hour. Of course, I wrote _exactly_ the types of stories where handsome men knocked on the doors of their lovers at such an hour, but I didn’t think Falk was like the men in my stories (or any of the stories in _The Red Rose_ ).

The knock came again, still soft, though perhaps a little bit louder this time.

I got to my feet, setting the lute aside, and made my way towards the door. Perhaps it was only Jon, or—a servant? Yes, a servant, maybe sent by the tailor since I hadn’t yet paid her (Jon kept telling me I shouldn’t, that she was a salaried palace employee, whatever that meant), or maybe about something else entirely.

I took a deep breath—and opened the door.

“Hello,” said the person before me.

He smiled, and my first impression was of deep, brown eyes; wild, black hair; and freckles spread out over the tops of full cheeks. He was dressed in, of all things, a silk robe, the bottoms of what looked like pajama pants sticking out under the hem. He was also wearing slippers and had a blanket wrapped around his narrow shoulders.

I didn’t need an introduction, for I’d not only seen him from afar, but had heard him described several times by Jon.

It was Casien Yedlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They should start a club 😋


	15. Chapter 15

My first thought was that he didn’t look at all sickly. If anything, he was the picture of good health, for his eyes were bright, his hair thick and shiny, and his figure… well, it was hard to tell under the robe and blanket, but he seemed to lack the habitual thinness of many invalids.

“May I come in?” he asked, after I failed to respond to his ‘hello.’ “I promise I’m not a bandit.”

I blinked and took a hasty step back. He smiled up at me and made his way inside, after which I closed the door behind him.

“Reminds me of the room I used to have,” he said, looking all around him with a little smile on his face, “back when I was just a servant. Well, the king’s personal servant, but I think he made that title up.”

“…Who?” I finally asked.

“My husband. He was pretending not to be in love with me. It’s a bit sad when I think about it, but I guess it all worked out in the end.”

I wanted to ask him why on earth he was _here_ , in my room, but I couldn’t quite seem to figure out how to phrase the question in a way that wouldn’t be offensive to the husband of a jarl—being around Jon apparently hadn’t really prepared me for being around a person of similar rank. Casien was small, and currently wrapped in an overlarge blanket, and honestly had a face that was so sweet I didn’t think I’d ever get away with describing it had I been trying to write a character who looked like him—none of my readers would ever have believed such a person could really exist. But there was just something about him that made me feel as if I were… well, as if someone like me really shouldn’t be talking to someone like him.

Maybe it was just because I knew who his husband was.

“I guess I should introduce myself,” he said, “Um, right after I apologize for barging in on you at such an hour. But I heard you playing, and, well.” He shrugged, and held his hand out to me. “I’m Casien. Casien Yedlin.”

“…Laurie,” I said, taking his hand and shaking it cautiously.

His smile returned. “Pleased to meet you. Jon already told me a lot about you.” He made as if to seat himself before the fire, but then seemed to hesitate. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“…No,” I said, feeling my face flush, for it felt wrong to make the husband of a jarl sit on the floor in my tiny little room. “Did you…” I blinked, realizing. “I’m sorry, I… don’t have anything to offer you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, folding his legs and settling in front of the fire. After a moment, I did the same, opposite him. “I was thinking about going to find the kitchens after this anyway.”

“Oh,” I said, for I wasn’t sure what else to say. Was it a normal thing for a jarl’s husband to wander a palace at night and poach from the kitchens as if he were a thief?

“You’re just as quiet as he said,” said Casien, smiling a little again. “And just as… well, beautiful.”

“…Oh,” I said again, this time reaching up to cover my cheeks, which I could feel becoming hot.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you! It’s just, Jon usually only waxes poetic about Olfina, so I knew you had to be something special.”

“…I’m not special,” I said, feeling awkward—it was surely wrong to contradict him, but I wasn’t used to being described in such glowing terms.

He smiled, his lips quirking at the corners. “Falk seems to think so—at least according to Jon.”

“I’m going to kill Jon,” I muttered.

He laughed.

“Poor Jon! He’s been lonely, you know. He writes to me, from time to time, says I should have come here instead of that ‘magic school in Winterhold’.” He shook his head. “Nords and magic, I swear.”

“You’re a mage!” I said, for Jon hadn’t mentioned _that_.

“Yes,” he said, blinking. “You didn’t know?”

I shook my head.

“…I’ve never seen anyone do magic before,” I admitted.

“Would you like a demonstration?”

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have been so sure. But there was just something so innocuous about him that I didn’t even hesitate before nodding.

He smiled and brought up one of his hands, cupping his fingers. Then, before my very eyes, he brought forth a tiny flame. I watched then as the dancing flame became a series of tiny sparks, like lightning dancing between his fingers. Lastly, a little swirl of snow and ice appeared; he tossed it towards me and I caught it on reflex—it had become a tiny snowball.

“Amazing…” I said, watching in awe as the little snowball gradually melted in my palm.

His smile broadened.

“I’ve gotten better over the years, I’ll admit. But I probably couldn’t do that so neatly if I didn’t have my wedding ring. My friend Nelacar enchanted it,” he continued, when I must have given him a questioning look, “and my friend Brelyna maintains the enchantment since Nelacar lives in Winterhold. But the ring helps me focus my concentration. Otherwise, I _might_ have accidentally frozen you solid just now.”

The look I gave him must have been proof enough of my horror, for he immediately laughed again and hastened to reassure me that he was exaggerating—for the most part.

“It’s a variation on the snap freeze spell,” he explained, as if I had any idea whatsoever what he was talking about. “So in all honesty, I _probably_ wouldn’t have frozen _all_ of you, not accidentally. Just maybe your hand or something.”

“…How reassuring,” I said, perhaps a bit more dryly than I ought to have.

He laughed yet again—it was more of a giggle, really.

“Don’t worry. The only time I’ve ever hurt someone accidentally with my magic was when I was very young, and they weren’t exactly nice people.”

“So if I’m nice to you,” I said carefully, “I just might live through this?”

My teasing seemed to delight him, and I began to wonder if I had some sort of natural talent for befriending the spouses of Skyrim jarls. The blanket had fallen from his shoulders now and pooled around his waist; I could see that he was small but healthy, almost plump, really. It was rather at odds with what Karita and I had observed earlier today.

“…Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, for I couldn’t shake the feeling that if he truly were ill, he should probably be in bed. “But… should you really be…?”

“Wandering the palace alone in nothing but a blanket and a robe?” His smile turned sheepish. “No. But I’ve been asleep for the past few hours, and I slept for half the journey here, too, after the illness came back. We thought we’d waited long enough, after I started to get better, but I guess we didn’t.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I’m wide awake now. And I didn’t know what to do, other than visit the library, and I wasn’t sure where that was.”

“It’s on the second floor,” I said.

“Thanks.” He beamed. “You’ll have to give me a tour. Tomorrow, if you’re too tired for it now.”

“…I’m not sure I’m really allowed to wander the palace in the same way you are,” I said, trying to be careful again, for I didn’t wish to offend him.

But he didn’t look offended—only confused.

“Why not? I’m sure no one would mind. Or do the servants not all know you?”

“…I don’t know,” I said, feeling more than a little baffled by the question. “I can’t say I really recognize any of them yet. I’ve only been here for about a week.”

“But they know that you’re with Falk. And that you’re Jon’s friend. Trust me, servants know everything.”

I sighed. Not this _again_.

“I’m not… _with_ anyone,” I said, averting my gaze now to the cheerfully dancing flames in the fireplace. “No matter what Jon told you.”

I expected him to say something—to tell me I was just being ridiculous, the way Jon or Karita would. When he didn’t, our eyes met again, and I saw that he was just looking at me, a thoughtful look on his round face.

“I didn’t want to believe it either,” he said. “When it first started happening.”

I frowned, for I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“When I realized Ulfric had fallen in love with me,” he explained. “I couldn’t accept it—that someone like _him_ could like someone like _me_. Even after he kissed me; it just didn’t make sense. Why would a king be interested in _me_?”

“…Falk isn’t in love with me,” I said, barely managing to get the words out, for it felt as if all the breath had been squeezed from my lungs.

“Maybe not yet,” he said, smiling again. “But one day, he might be. And if it happens, it’s okay to love him back. I promise.”

But I shook my head; it was just too much. Falk, in love, with _me_? I was still reeling over the fact that he actually seemed to really like me—over the fact I’d dared to kiss his cheek, and that he’d apparently been over the moon about it, at least enough for Soren to notice and tell Jon.

“…It was _one_ date,” I said, or tried to say. “Just… one. And I…”

But I couldn’t admit to kissing him aloud, even if it _had_ just been on the cheek. I made a sound deep in my throat and lowered my face into my hands. I found myself wishing for the impossible in that moment—that I could be as calm and articulate as most people, and that I wouldn’t make such a complete fool of myself in front of someone I barely knew.

“I’m sorry,” said Caisen, “I really didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just… I really wanted to meet you, you know? I’ve only met someone like me once before, and he was… well, different. I don’t mean that in a bad way. But just the way that Jon described you, it just really made me want to meet you.”

“…What do you mean?” I asked, finally sighing and lifting my head again. “Someone like you?”

“An elf,” he said, the sheepish smile returning to his face. “And a commoner. In love with a human king.”

I frowned. “I’m _not_ …”

“In love with him, I know. Jon really does exaggerate; I’m not sure he even realizes how much.” He laughed, clearly amused by our mutual friend’s flare for the dramatic. “But you _like_ Falk. And by all accounts, he likes you. So…” He shrugged. “Like I said. It’s just nice to be around someone like me. Though I guess I _should_ probably be giving you advice and tips on what to watch out for. You know, like, how everyone will probably disregard everything you say at first, or how they’ll assume he’s just sleeping with you to satisfy some temporary urge or something.”

I felt suddenly faint—almost catatonic. “We haven’t…”

“I know!” he said, waving his hands to try and settle me. “I’m just saying, you know, for the future.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “ _Although_ … I could probably give you advice on that sort of thing, too, if you wanted it?”

I stared at him as if I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

The husband of the High King of Skyrim was offering to give me sex tips.

I opened my mouth, but no words were willing to come out.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no,” he joked.

“…Maybe…?” I squeaked, and I had to bury my face in my hands again because this was so _humiliating_.

“Jon said you’re a writer,” he said, and I could hear the amusement in his voice. “He said you write romance stories. You must have _some_ experience with that sort of thing.”

“If it ever gets around that I don’t,” I said miserably, “I’d never sell another story _again_.”

He blinked at me, clearly surprised. “None at all? But—you’re so—well—”

I frowned at him, wondering why on Nirn he thought I of all people should have had a hefty number of notches on my bedpost at this point in my life. Of course, half the time I thought men _were_ flirting with me, I convinced myself that they weren’t. It was honestly just easier that way.

I sighed, my whole body sagging.

“…Pathetic?” I finished. “And shy. And too tall, too skinny, too naïve.”

“Wrong,” he said, “That wasn’t what I was thinking at all. Well, you are kind of tall. But you’re also really beautiful, and now I know you’re pretty fun to talk to, too. And, let’s see…” He held up the fingers of one hand, as though counting. “You can play the lute, which is apparently how Falk first discovered you. You can write, and you’re really good at it, too, according to Jon—by the way, I’d _love_ to read your stuff, so if you need someone to bounce ideas off, look no further.”

I rolled my eyes. “You want to read romance stories from someone who has absolutely zero experience with romance?”

“Why not? I don’t assume everyone who’s written a battle scene has actually gone out and killed someone. Although with Nords…”

The sudden knock on the door startled me—but not my companion, who sort of hunched his shoulders forward and made a little ‘eek’ face at me. I gave him a curious look before rising to my feet and moving to answer the door.

“Jon…!” I said, surprised to see him.

But there, standing silently behind him, and glaring down at me like the great bear he was often compared to—was Ulfric Stormcloak.

“It’s okay, Laurie,” said Jon, smiling and reaching out to quickly steady me. Ulfric’s reaction to my own at his sudden appearance on my doorstep was merely to arch one, blond eyebrow. “We’re just looking for Casien, and we thought he might…”

“Hello,” said Casien, now standing beside me and beaming up at his husband. He’d rewrapped the blanket around his shoulders, too. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I thought to search the library,” said the jarl, “but you were not there. I was then obliged to wake Jon and ask for his assistance.”

“So, yeah, thanks for that,” said Jon.

“Sorry,” said Casien, still beaming, and not looking all that sorry, truth be told.

“Come,” said his husband, “We risk a second relapse. I do not like how poorly insulated these hallways are.”

“It is a bit chilly,” agreed Casien, who slipped past me to allow the jarl to adjust the blanket so that it was more securely wrapped around him.

“Come visit me tomorrow,” he added over his shoulder to me, “If you don’t have anything else to do. We can talk about… some of the stuff we talked about tonight. Not that stuff!” he said quickly, when I must have paled, “I mean about the library and the kitchens and that sort of thing.”

And he gave me a wink. Right in front of his oblivious husband, who had come all the way over here to fetch him and bring him back to bed. I just stared at him, not a little impressed by his gall.

“…All right,” I said, and I couldn’t help smiling a little in return, because spending the day wandering the palace with a Skyrim prince was a rather amusing thought. Of course, naturally, I was going to refuse, and offer to bring him all the books and snacks he might wish for, for I had no desire to cross the stern-faced behemoth of a man standing close behind him.

“Well, good night,” said Casien, waving.

“Good night,” I said.

He and Ulfric turned away together, the high king’s hand coming to rest between his husband’s small shoulders. Jon just looked at me and rolled his eyes; I laughed and bid him good night as well before closing the door.

I confess I had some trouble falling asleep that night, despite the best efforts of my tea. Casien’s words kept echoing in my head, and I couldn’t help allowing myself to envision what it would be like: to be the beloved of a king. It was, without a doubt, like something from a fairy tale, or even one of my own stories. Francesca was going to marry her prince, after all, and Francis his guard captain. Was it possible that I, someday, might do the same?

Maybe I could finally admit to myself that I had simply been _afraid_ to imagine it. Suppose we met again, and again, and again—suppose he kissed me, suppose I allowed my own feelings to deepen—suppose he even became the first man I actually slept with—oh, my body, at least, liked that thought _very_ much, something I wasn’t entirely used to. But then, suppose our story did not end happily the way it did in the stories I read and wrote. Suppose, like Lady Bryling, I would discover that he and I didn’t truly belong together.

Or suppose he discovered that himself.

Still—was that reason enough to deny myself the _potential_ for happiness? I sighed and hugged my childhood toy to my chest and found myself thinking of Ulfric Stormcloak, waking up and discovering his recovering husband missing, and being so worried that he began to search for him immediately. That, I felt certain, was love. They were probably in their room together now, lying in bed with their arms around one another, one of them quite happy and relieved to have his beloved safe and near him again.

So I let myself imagine something similar. I closed my eyes and imagined, as I had some weeks ago back in the tavern, lying in bed, and wrapped in the embrace of the man I could finally admit I was beginning to fall in love with.

Maybe that’s why I eventually did fall asleep, and probably with a smile on my face, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Laurie's admitted his own feelings to himself, I'm sure it will be smooth sailing from here on out. 😌😌😌
> 
> Also every time there's a knock on the door and it's not Falk I know half of you are throwing your devices at the wall. Bwhahahaha.


	16. Chapter 16

I was surprised to find myself still in good spirits when I awoke the next morning. I sipped my coffee and nibbled on my toast while gazing out at the rose garden just outside my bedroom window, and let the admission I’d made to myself last night settle further in my chest.

I didn’t know how or why, but talking to Lord Casien had helped me accept the fact that I was probably well on my way to being in my first relationship. That it was with the Skyrim equivalent of a king was—well, Jon wanted me to believe that it was irrelevant, yet Casien seemed to have been arguing the exact opposite. Both were the spouses of jarls. Who was I to believe?

I tried not to think about it, yet it was hard _not_ to think about it—the fact that my first kiss was probably going to be with such a man.

And I wanted to kiss him so badly, it made my heart constrict in my chest. I wanted to feel his lips against my own—not just any man’s, _his_. I didn’t know what that meant, for I’d never felt it before. It made me want to hide my face and groan the way I did when my new friends teased me about him.

I sighed and stood up, absently wiping my hands on my trousers before going to brush my teeth and get ready. I actually had quite the day planned—I wasn’t sure exactly when Lord Casien intended to either visit or send for me, but I was through waiting in my room for nobles to wander up to my door. Plus I actually did have things to do.

So, with my writing satchel slung over my shoulders, along with a little canister of water in case I should get too hot, I set out.

First was a quick stop at Ullia and Betia’s. I was ready to pitch another story, and though it wasn’t an animal story, I felt it was more in tune with the sorts of reaffirming tales they had in mind for their journal. They were both as kind and welcoming as always, and this time, as I discussed my idea over a plate of freshly-baked cookies and a warm cup of tea, I felt more confident, but also more amenable to the suggestions and concerns that Betia made. In the end, I left a copy of my rough draft with them, and promised to return the following Middas so that we could discuss any edits she thought might be necessary.

“But you know, dear,” she said, as she walked me to the front door as per usual, “You needn’t come and visit us each time you’ve a new story in mind. We’re quite happy to receive a parcel, for we know how busy you writers are.”

“But I like coming to visit with you,” I said, “And you’re both always so kind to me.”

This seemed to astonish her, and then she embarrassed me by laughing and patting my cheek and telling me what a dear, sweet boy I was, and that she and her sister should always be happy to sit and visit with me.

“You should come for dinner sometime,” she said. “Dear Ullia makes a delicious jazbay pie!”

“I will,” I promised.

Next was _The Red Rose_ publishing house. The woman at the front desk informed me that I had been assigned to one of their editors, a Mr. Ushnar gro-Dulob. That, I knew, was an Orsimer name, and I can’t say I wasn’t surprised to learn that an orc was a leading editor of an international romance magazine. I had met several orcs in Alverton, though not many; they were rough, direct people, often very learned and very skilled, but seemed to hold little interest in things like romance and fairy tales.

Mr. gro-Dulob was indeed very gruff—and _very_ direct—he had me sitting before him not five seconds before informing me that I had ‘an adverb problem.’ I was also told that I was at times a bit ‘wordy’ and that my descriptions, especially in regards to clothing, furniture, and so on, might do for the novelization but a great deal of content would need to be cut for the serial. I wasn’t entirely pleased to hear this, but after my experience with Betia, I now knew that this was all part of the process. The majority of the hour I spent with him, however, was spent discussing the overall story arc. He wanted to know how much I already had written—quite a bit of it, he was pleased to learn—and we began to strategize which chapters might coincidence with certain specialty issues they had planned for the future. Lastly, he asked me how I wished to be published, which was right when I recalled that I’d promised Ullia and Betia that I would use a penname for my more adult stories.

“…Lorenya,” I said, thinking it a nice mix between my own name and both of my mothers. I knew they would be quite pleased with it.

“‘Lorenya’ it is,” said gro-Dulob, jotting the name down. “And the address—is it still correct?”

I had to tell him that I now resided at the Blue Palace, and luckily I did know which room number I’d been assigned. Learning about my new (temporary) place of residence didn’t seem to faze him one bit. He simply made a note of it, then pulled open a drawer from his desk, wherein he pulled out a handful of septims—my advance plus payment for the first chapter, which was to appear in print next week.

“…Thank you,” I said, gazing down in wonder at the coins now nestled in my palm.

“Don’t thank me, Mr. Nailo,” he said. “It’s just business. Or rather, you can thank me by getting rid of some of those adverbs.”

“Oh—yes, of course,” I said, hastily pocketing the coins.

He made a shooing motion with his hand, letting me know he expected my submissions to always arrive on Morndas, 9am sharp. Any major changes made to the manuscript, and he would send for me. I was to respond right away, or else the changes would be made regardless. That last part was more than a little unnerving, but I supposed it was all part of what they refer to as ‘editorial privilege.’ My stories were no longer entirely my own, but if I wanted to share them (and I supposed I did), I was going to have to make allowances.

Fortunately, he gave no indication that he _would_ be making any major changes to the overall story, for despite all the criticisms he’d immediately heaped upon me the second I stepped foot into his office, I also had the impression that he was quite satisfied with my talents as a writer. He also hadn’t batted an eye over the fact that I wrote from the point of view of a woman without being one myself. He didn’t ask if I’d had any experience with women or with romance in general. All he seemed to care about was the work itself—and I rather liked him the better for it.

Afterward, it was nearly lunchtime, so I decided to head down to the Skeever to see if Karita would like to eat somewhere with me—my treat, considering the suddenly heavy weight of my coin purse. She was more than amenable. Afterward, we did a bit of shopping together; she convinced me to buy a few new trousers and tunics, for she’d heard about the wardrobe emergency I’d had before my first date with Falk. I also purchased a few books at the bookshop, for I still considered the contents of the palace library to be a little on the dry side, and when I wasn’t playing or writing, I was sometimes actually quite bored alone in my room. I wasn’t a particularly fast reader, either, so the romances I bought would hopefully last me for quite some time.

It was close to dinnertime by the time Karita and I parted. We compromised, saying our good-byes somewhere in the middle of the city, right about when the buildings began to turn rather fine, and the gardens began to appear. I wished her good luck with her performance tonight; she wished me good luck with my writing—and with any _other_ special endeavors I might be _pursuing_. I rolled my eyes and smiled to myself as I began to walk back to the palace.

I was starting to get hungry again by the time I made it back. However, I was a little dismayed (and maybe a little more than concerned) to see that all of the _other_ occupied guest rooms had silver trays waiting on the little table outside their doors—all except my own, that is.

Instead, there was a little folded piece of parchment.

 _Come and have dinner with me? I’m in my room. :)_ _\--Casien_

I sighed and supposed being the husband of the high king gave one the ability to have a note delivered to someone’s door in lieu of their dinner. As I could hardly turn the invitation down now without starving for the night—not that I suspected any sort of maliciousness at play; there was a guilelessness to the note’s author that would have made such a thing impossible—to say nothing of the little happy face at the end—I entered my room to deposit my purchases, then made use of the washroom before heading immediately back out again.

A few minutes later found me making my way down the most elaborate looking hallway I’d encountered in the palace yet. I’d had to ask a servant for directions, and was surprised when she obliged me without question—I would have thought the location of the high king’s personal rooms might have been a more closely guarded secret, but evidently not.

I found myself hesitating before knocking at the impressively carved door before me. Casien hadn’t indicated whether he’d be alone or not, and the thought of coming face to face with Ulfric Stormcloak again was not an appealing one. Then again, Falk had told me that his evenings were soon to be spent hosting dinner for his guests—it was reasonable to assume that Ulfric was now with him and the other jarls, and that Casien, who was supposedly still recovering from his illness, had stayed behind. Hoping for the best, I took a deep breath and raised my hand to knock.

I was surprised to hear someone call from within for me to enter instead of coming to answer. I did so—and immediately paused, for I don’t know why I hadn’t been expecting a repeat of Jon’s sitting room. If anything, this one was even larger and grander, though the far windows looked out onto the city below instead of yet another garden. The fireplace had been built up, as well, making the room very warm, though not uncomfortably so. 

“I’m in here,” said the person who’d called for me to enter, and I recognized the voice now as belonging to Lord Casien, of course.

I was hesitant to enter, for it seemed clear that this was a bedroom—and so it was, the large, four-poster, canopied bed dominating the room. It was still a cozy room, for all its size; the fireplace blazed even hotter in here, and luxurious rugs carpeted every inch of the floor. The bed’s temporary owner was sitting in the middle of it, still dressed in his sleep clothes. The bedcovers were pulled up to his waist, and he had a lap desk over his lap, along with a handful of books scattered around him. Another lap desk lying nearby on the mattress held a silver dinner tray, though it as yet remained apparently unopened.

“Laurie!” he said, clearly happy to see me. “I was hoping it was you. I was just reading over this letter again—it’s from the friend I mentioned last night. Come and have a look.”

I couldn’t help feeling a little awkward as I approached, for though he had invited me, it was his _bedroom_ , after all. And there was nowhere to sit, aside from the two plush chairs which faced away from the bed and towards the roaring fireplace.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, shifting to move aside some of the books—and clearly making room on the bed for me to join him.

I did so, first removing my boots before gingerly sitting down and folding my legs up under me.

“…Are you sure this is all right?” I asked, as he handed me the letter.

“I don’t think he’d mind, and you’ll meet him soon enough anyway. But don’t tell anyone I said that, all right?”

“All right,” I said, baffled as to who he thought I would tell.

“Rin’s the prince of Farrun,” he explained. “He and his husband, and Queen Elora of Jehanna, are set to arrive here in Solitude within the next few days. Only nobody knows that except me, Ulfric, and Falk—we had to tell Falk, of course, so he could make preparations.”

“…And you’re telling _me_?” I said, lowering the letter and staring at him in shock. “Why not Jon?”

“I wanted to tell Jon,” he said, and I could tell from the frown on his face that he really did. “But I couldn’t. When the other jarls or their representatives learn of it, they need to all hear it at the same time. None of them can suspect us of playing favorites.” He sighed. “And they would. If Dengeir found out that Jon and Olfina knew something and he didn’t—well, he’s paranoid enough as it is.”

“And I trust you,” he added, shrugging. “I’m pretty good at telling whether someone’s trustworthy or not. I guess you could say it’s one of my talents. I’m also really good at telling whether someone’s lying or trying to hide something. Which is what I think Rin’s trying to do here.”

“…Trying to hide something from you?” I asked, frowning down at the letter again.

“Not from me. From Ulfric, if I had to guess.”

I already had the feeling I was suddenly far deeper into Skyrim politics than I ever wanted to be. But I could hardly hand the letter back to him and refuse to read it, so I pressed my lips together and began to read:

_Dear Casien,_

_I hope you don’t mind my slipping in a little personal note like this. It’s been so long since we’ve seen one another, and I confess I can’t wait to see you again. I have a great deal to tell you._

_Much love,  
_ _Prince Rininion_

“It was included with King Alain’s official letter saying he and Queen Elora would soon be departing the Jehanna City port,” said Casien.

“…I don’t really see anything unusual,” I said, turning the letter over as if I expected to find a clue on the back.

Casien snorted.

“That’s because you don’t know Rin. He’s… well, I do consider him a friend, but I can’t imagine him ever saying in a million years that he ‘can’t wait to see me again.’ And the signature!” He shook his head. “That’s not Rin. It just isn’t. Even the fact that he signs the letter as ‘Prince Rininion’—it just isn’t _him_.”

“…He ‘has a lot to tell’ you,” I said slowly, tracing my finger over the line again.

“Do you think that’s significant? But it’s so vague.” He went suddenly still, his eyes widening. “Blessed Azura. It isn’t _my_ husband he’s trying to hide something from. It’s his own!”

“Or maybe both?” I suggested.

“I don’t know—maybe? But since it arrived with Alain’s official letter, we can assume Alain must have had an opportunity to read it. So that could mean that Rin wants to tell me something—and he doesn’t want his own husband to know about it.”

He frowned, one finger absently curling around a strand of wild, dark hair. “Now all I need to do is find a way to meet with him before the moot begins. I’m just not sure how.”

“…What?” I asked, when he suddenly looked at me.

“Well, I have an idea, but I have a feeling you’re not going to like it.”

I sighed. I was becoming more and more embroiled in this… _whatever_ this was… with each passing second.

“Where’s the one place he and I could both meet where we could do so in total privacy?” he asked. “Not the library, not the gardens, not a public place. And where we know our husbands won’t feel they need to worry about us, and where we won’t look suspicious?”

“…I don’t know,” I said, after he appeared to be waiting for me to guess.

He laughed. “Your room, Laurie! I was there last night, and it was perfect. Ulfric won’t mind me visiting you, and I’m guessing Alain wouldn’t mind it either.”

“… _My_ room?!” I finally managed to blurt out.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “I promise. You won’t get in trouble. I’ll make sure of it.”

I supposed having the word of the high king’s consort was no small thing, and as I could hardly bring myself to tell him ‘no,’ there really wasn’t much else I could do to protest. He seemed to think the plan fairly solid—and it was, assuming Prince Rininion could be trusted. I probably should have had an inkling as to what sort of person the prince of my own country was, but in all honesty, none of us outside the city really paid much attention to the goings on at court. One of my mothers had wanted to attend the public wedding ceremony when the king had first announced his upcoming nuptials, but it was during harvest season, and we just couldn’t spare the time.

“Well, that’s settled, at least for now,” he said, folding the letter and setting it aside. “It won’t do us any good to fret over it until we know more. You haven’t eaten dinner yet, have you?”

“I tried,” I said dryly, “but all they left me was a note.”

He looked at me, blinking, his large, brown eyes suddenly seeming even larger than before.

“Oh,” he said, “I guess I shouldn’t have assumed—

“…It’s all right,” I said quickly, for now I suddenly felt bad. “I was only teasing.”

“No, it’s not all right.” He was blushing now, and it only made me feel worse. “I’ve been very silly around you, haven’t I? Visiting you without knowing you, inviting myself into your room, inviting you here without even asking whether you really wanted to come. I’m sorry, I just…” His shoulders slumped, and it somehow made him seem even smaller. “I’m honestly not very good at making friends. I guess when Jon told me about you, I got this stupid idea into my head, and…”

“…It’s not a stupid idea,” I said. “We _are_ similar. Look, I’ve thought a lot about what you said last night, and… while it’s hard to picture myself as being… like you… I can at least admit…”

He looked at me, waiting patiently, but after a while, it seemed clear that my anxiety and my stutter wouldn’t let me continue.

“You can admit that you like him,” he said, reaching out to lay a hand gently over my knee. “And he likes you.”

I nodded, grateful that he could finish the thought and not tease me for it.

“Well, I didn’t mean to force you to confront things you’re not comfortable confronting yet,” he said. “But I can’t say I’m not happy to hear you say that. Falk’s a good man, you know. I don’t know him very well myself, but Ulfric thinks very highly of him.” He snorted. “I think he likes being a thorn in his side a bit too much, but he still likes him.”

“I don’t think the feeling’s _entirely_ mutual,” I said, recalling how Falk had spoken of the high king during our dinner together. “But I do think he respects him.”

“Oh, I know the feeling’s not mutual, trust me. But I also think this country is very lucky to have them both, and they do work well together. All right,” he said, reaching for the dinner tray now, “Enough talk. Let’s eat!!”

Dinner for the husband of a jarl (and his new friend, apparently) was quite a different thing from what those of us occupying the small guest rooms were served. It reminded me more of the dinner Falk and I had shared, or perhaps the fine lunch Jon had paid for to celebrate my being published with _The Rose_. It even came with dessert: a huge piece of peach cobbler apiece, and I couldn’t help smiling as I watched the diminutive king’s consort beside me scrape the edges of his plate and close his eyes and sigh as he sucked the last bit of crumbs from the spoon.

We washed our dinner down with lemonade instead of beer—apparently, he didn’t care for spirits, and the cook somehow already knew this. I thought of how Healer Errin had said she’d been in contact with the personal healers of all the jarls and their families, and supposed the cook had done something similar. The ways of wealthy people never ceased to amaze me.

“Ready to go exploring?” he asked, once we’d finished. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“…Your husband seemed very unhappy last night,” I said lamely, for I didn’t want to admit that I found the man to be terribly intimidating.

And if he learned that _I_ was the reason his invalid husband had left his sickbed _again_ …

“He worries too much,” said Casien, waving a hand. “That’s just how he is. Besides, he’s at dinner now with all the other jarls. Trust me, I’m totally fine. Plus I’ve been stuck inside this room all day, and if I don’t get out soon, I’m going to scream.”

“…If you’re _sure_ you’re all right…”

“Totally sure.” He pushed the bedcovers back and crawled towards the edge of the mattress, bouncing to his feet. “Do you mind if I get dressed?”

I shrugged, and moved to pull my boots back on while he exchanged his sleep clothes for a proper pair of trousers and a tunic. It was a different style tunic than I had seen most folk wearing here in Solitude, for it went all the way to his knees and had fur along the shoulders and even on the upturned collar. I supposed Skyrim was a country so large its various holds dwelt in different climates so that even the clothing was slightly different.

The room may have been warm, but the palace was still a bit chilly, for the temperature had dropped after yesterday’s storm. I was thus fairly relieved when he fastened a heavy cloak around his shoulders. I was perhaps a _little_ more surprised to see him strap on a sword belt, but I supposed maybe being married to a Nord did that a person.

“Library first, if you don’t mind,” he said, as we made our way out of the apartment. “I’ve made a bet with myself that I’ll be able to find plenty of information about the history of the Forsworn, though naturally there’s a distinct possibility that the ancient Nords purposefully expunged everything they had on the Reachfolk from their libraries. I also have a bet with my friend Eleanor that they once had their own form of pidgin language, but something tells me I’m going to lose that one.”

“…Do you really like reading about that sort of thing?” I asked, gazing at him in wonder as I led the way towards the library. “History, and politics…”

“Why not? Though in all honesty I’ll probably read just about anything. Sometimes I think about all the things I don’t know, all the places I haven’t visited, and it makes me rather miserable—though maybe a bit excited, too, because who knows? Perhaps I’ll go there some day, wherever ‘there’ might be.” He smiled at me. “What sort of things do you like to read?

“…Novels,” I admitted. “Mostly romance, mystery…”

“I suppose that makes sense, since you’re a novelist. Do you like poetry?”

“…Sometimes. I like plays…”

He then became very eager to hear what plays I had seen and read; as to the former, the answer was ‘none,’ other than the traveling performances that sometimes made their way through Alverton. That counted, he insisted, for they had no proper theatre in Windhelm, and he often had to rely on such performances himself. What I had read was what had already existed in my parents’ library back home, plus what we had studied in school.

“You studied literature?” he asked, clearly surprised. “While you were in school? A village school?”

“Yes,” I said. “…Didn’t you?”

He shook his head.

“And I don’t think they do much reading in school here in Skyrim, either.” He frowned. “That should probably change…”

He was constantly full of ideas, thoughts, and opinions, yet he was never forthright or obnoxious about it. If anything, he was unassuming, even verging on shy—I could relate to the way he sometimes blushed when he thought he’d said the wrong thing, or the way he sometimes hesitated before answering. Yet he was the husband of a king, and had been for some time, at least according to Jon. I wondered if he knew how much that seemed to give him confidence, for I found myself wondering if he had once been _exactly_ like me.

And I couldn’t help wondering if I would ever someday be more like him.

We spent a good hour or so in the library. We looked at old city maps he somehow managed to find, and read through ancient Falmer poetry which he declared to be very poorly translated. He showed me how to properly use the library’s sorting system, for although I’d had a vague sense that things were shelved alphabetically by author, I knew little beyond that. But most libraries, he explained, also shelved books according to subject, and large ones like this even broke those subjects down further. So there was a fiction section, which I had found, but beyond that there were tales separated by region and time period, and then further by genre.

“You might like this one,” he said, pulling out a collection of tales from Hammerfell, “and this one I _know_ you’ll love; it’s about two Breton princes who fall in love.”

I took it from him, my fingers tracing over the painted, beautiful image etched into the leather-bound cover. The two stylized princes stood with their backs to one another, one dark, one fair, their hands clasped between them.

“How does it end?” I asked breathlessly. “Do they end up together?”

“I’m not telling you _that_ ,” he said, smiling. “You’ll have to read it and find out. Oh, look!” He pulled out two more books, both the same size and with the same cover. “They’ve got two copies of this one. Let’s both read it and talk about it together afterward.”

I took one of the books from him, adding it to my pile. I had never talked about anything that I’d read with anyone other than my parents. But even they hadn’t read the same books that I had; they were neither of them great readers, though one of my mothers was fond of poetry. Their favorite thing to do in the evening was turn to the society section of the Alverton newspaper and gossip about their neighbors. I sometimes joined in, but mostly I listened, as it was often fodder for new ideas for my own stories.

After our jaunt in the library, Casien then flagged down a pair of servants and asked them if they wouldn’t mind carrying our books back to our respective rooms. I felt quite embarrassed by this, for I never would have thought to ask such a thing, but the servants agreed to do so without so much as batting an eye.

“Where to next?” he asked. “I’m not really hungry, so I suppose we can skip the kitchens.”

“…I don’t know,” I said. “The Pelagius Wing…?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a part of the palace that’s supposed to be haunted, but it isn’t. It’s where the moot will take place.”

“Sounds like I’ll be stuck there regardless, soon enough.” He frowned for a moment, clearly thinking. “The Blue Palace is reputed to have beautiful gardens. Isn’t there one right outside your room?”

“Yes… But it’s dark outside now. We wouldn’t be able to see much.”

“True… Oh! What about the one on the rooftop? Jon told me Falk took you there on your first date.”

I stared at him in surprise. Had Jon really told him _everything_ that had happened between myself and Falk? On top of that, I was now quite certain that the rooftop garden was a private garden. Falk had mentioned that Elisif rarely came up there after her husband had been killed, and she had been jarl. Now _he_ was jarl, and had seemed to indicate that he came there often. And Soren had clearly given me special permission to go there yesterday—special permission I certainly didn’t have now.

“…I don’t know,” I finally said. “I’m not sure we should.”

He blinked at me.

“Why not?”

“Well…” I said carefully, “I think it belongs to the jarl.”

“Oh! Well, that’s all right. I’m sure he won’t mind if we go there, too.”

And so we were off. I remembered Karita saying that the high king’s ‘little Dunmer’ husband had him wrapped around his finger—and I supposed it wasn’t hard to see why or how. It was rather difficult to refuse someone who had a tendency to stare at you as if his eyes had gone two sizes bigger than normal. He also carried with him the air of someone who wasn’t used to being denied his way—and I don’t really think it had anything to do with his social status. Lord Casien, even before he had married a king, struck me as the type of person who’d always done exactly what he wanted to do, regardless of what anyone else _thought_ he should do.

I could feel my chest squeezing more tightly around my lungs as we made our way up the flight of stairs to the third floor. Patrolling guards glanced at us, but if they didn’t recognize me, they certainly recognized my companion. He actually smiled and waved at them. This seemed to confuse them, though they always nodded back, along with the occasional murmured ‘my lord’.

“…It’s probably locked,” I said, trying not to sound too hopeful as we made our way up the narrow flight of stairs.

He put his hand on the knob, turned, and beamed over his shoulder at me. “We’re in luck!”

I sighed and followed him the rest of the way up.

The air was cool—much cooler than I’d anticipated. I was glad Casien had brought a cloak, but I half wished I’d brought one myself. The high walls blocked off most of the wind, but it still rustled the leaves of the taller ornamental fruit trees. The sky was quite cloudy, blocking out both moons, but despite all that, the garden was still as lovely as it had been the first time I’d been here, even if a bit harder to make out in the early evening gloom.

“It’s beautiful,” said Casien, still walking ahead of me. “I wish we could have something like it in Windhelm.”

“Why can’t you?” I asked, smiling a little, for I had the distinct impression that if he should ask for something, it would be given to him.

“Too cold,” came the absent response. “Though I’ve been thinking about asking Ulfric if we might build a hothouse. Well, a little private one, anyway; the palace already has one for the kitchens and… Oh!”

He stopped abruptly, and I looked past him and saw—

“Lord Casien? Is that you?”

My heart seized up in my chest.

“Falk!” Casien glanced over his shoulder at me, his eyes wide. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t think anyone would be up here.”

“Laurie…?”

He had spotted me now, and I didn’t miss how his voice had softened when he said my name. It eased the frantic beating of my heart a little, though I could still feel myself flushing horribly.

“It’s my fault,” continued Casien. “Please don’t blame him. He said we probably shouldn’t come, but I insisted.”

“Truly, you’ve nothing to apologize for,” he said. “You are both welcome here.”

I swallowed and forced myself to lift my gaze from the stone floor beneath my boots. Of course, he was looking at me and smiling ever so slightly—almost anxiously. I remembered, too, that human eyes didn’t see as well in the dark as mer eyes, and supposed he probably couldn’t quite make out my own expression. It brought me some faint relief, and helped the blush fade from my cheeks.

“…Does this mean dinner’s over?” asked Casien, and I thought he still sounded more than a little guilty.

“It is, for the most part, though a few may still linger.” His lips quirked at the corners. “I’m afraid your husband has probably already returned to your rooms. He was anxious to make certain that you were still resting comfortably.”

Casien groaned, and I couldn’t help the little smile that came to my face. I moved my hand to hide it; Falk caught the gesture, and smiled back at me. He was closer now, hands clasped behind his back as they so often were.

“I’d better go back,” said Casien, sighing.

He turned to me, his expression anxious

“Will you be all right?” he said, lowering his voice so presumably only I could hear.

I glanced past him at Falk, who still stood politely and silently nearby, as if he had no idea we were whispering to one another. I had to smile again and look down briefly, biting my lip.

“…I’ll be fine,” I finally said.

He smiled, the expression brightening his face.

“Well, good night, then,” he said, his voice returning to normal. “Good night,” he added, waving to Falk, who nodded back.

I watched over my shoulder as he made his way back towards the door. When it finally shut behind him, I took a quick breath and faced forward again.

“Are you cold…?” asked Falk, closing the distance between us now, though he did so slowly, almost cautiously. “The storm yesterday seems to have stolen away the start of summer.”

“…A little,” I admitted.

I watched in dismay then as he began to shrug out of the coat he was wearing—it was the same deep blue velvet one he’d been wearing the other day—before moving to drape it around my own shoulders.

“Oh, no…” I protested. “You don’t…”

“It’s all right,” he said, smiling as he adjusted the collar around my neck. “I was bred to withstand the cold. And, truth be told, I get a little warm in these fine coats Soren insists I wear.”

“…Soren tells you what to wear?” I asked, dreadfully aware of how close he was standing to me now.

He chuckled. “He would if he could. He makes very strategic _suggestions_ , shall we say. He would control every single aspect of my life if possible, for I’m rather hopeless in most cases.” He lowered his hands, smiling. “There. You look rather dashing in blue.”

“…I’m sure I look very silly,” I said, for though we were nearly the same height, he was much broader than me—the coat was indeed very warm, but I was swimming in it. Had I pushed my arms through the armholes, the sleeves likely would have continued past my fingertips.

“I can’t imagine you could ever look silly,” he murmured, and there was just something about the quiet way he said it that made my cheeks flush and my heart skip a beat in my chest.

He cleared his throat then and took a step back, flashing me a sheepish smile.

“Would you like to sit? There’s a bench just over here. We’ll be better sheltered from the wind, at least.”

I nodded and allowed him to lead me there; it was indeed a cozy place to sit, flanked on both sides by two slender ornamental fruit trees and a row of flowering bushes behind it. The bench was wooden, a bit more comfortable than the stone ones in the gardens below. After a moment, he sat down beside me, closer than he had ever sat beside me before, though there was still some space between us—he seemed incapable of behaving discourteously, and I wondered if this was related to his position, or just part of who he was.

“…I’m sorry we disturbed you,” I said, for I could think of nothing else to say.

 _I didn’t know you would be here_ , I wanted to add, but I thought that might sound as if I were unhappy that he _was_ here.

“And I say again, you need not apologize. I consider it a welcome disturbance, if you must term it as such. I have a tendency, perhaps a bad one, to come up here when I feel the need to clear my head. But I believe it likely does me little good to sit in my little corner of the universe and brood.”

“…I don’t think it’s bad to want to be alone,” I said, looking at him, for he seemed quite sad all of a sudden.

He gave me a rueful smile.

“Perhaps not. But too much self-indulgence can lead to some unfortunate patterns of behavior—patterns which I really should be trying to break.” His gaze softened a little. “I thought of visiting you. But then I thought I shouldn’t.”

“…Why not?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt.

“Call it another ‘pattern of behavior’ I’ve been attempting to break—forcing my attentions on hapless young men who may or may not be anxious to receive them.”

This confused me for a moment, until I gathered from his twinkling eyes and slightly quirking lips that he was teasing again—though there was a hint of self-effacement in his tone of voice that I wasn’t completely deaf to, either.

“…You’re trying to trick me,” I accused, and his smile widened and turned sheepish again. “You want me to tell you that I like your attentions.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed.

I pressed my lips together.

“Well, I don’t _dislike_ them,” I said.

He laughed, resting his hand dramatically over his heart.

“Then I am honored by your lack of disdain for my presence.” He lowered his hand, his expression turning a little more serious again. “I’m not a fool then for believing that you—that is, disturbing your lunch, disturbing your writing, showing up at your door—I don’t wish to be odious, but I—

“You’re not a fool,” I said, and I surprised myself by reaching my hand out from behind the coat and wrapping my fingers around his own.

He looked down at our hands, then back up at me, his eyes wide, lips parting slightly.

“You’re not,” I repeated. “I’m just…” I looked down, trying to steady my breathing. “It’s… very hard for me to…”

But the words wouldn’t come. I knew better than to try to force them. Then _I_ would look the fool, syllables desperately tripping off the tip of my tongue, my face flushing from exertion and humiliation.

I felt his other hand rest gently over my own, his fingers squeezing mine in return.

“I understand,” he said softly. “Please, don’t distress yourself.”

I nodded and looked down at our hands again; I thought he would release mine, but he didn’t. Gradually, I could feel the heat returning to my cheeks, for it was the first time I had held another man’s hand.

“…What was it you were thinking about?” I asked. “Before we disturbed you.”

He sighed, his left hand finally sliding away again, by the fingers of his right still stayed lightly curled around my own.

“These dinners I must host every night are about as pleasant as one might expect. The sycophants disgust me, and the detractors exhaust me. Then there is Ulfric himself.” He frowned, his jaw seeming to clench beneath his beard. “I’m pleased to see you befriending his husband, for I believe Casien to be a very good sort of person, and we likely owe him a great deal. Ulfric’s mind has been definitively turned to peace—and a newly independent Skyrim needs peace.

“But he is still a king, in ways that I am not. He delights in moving the game pieces on the board. He must have his hand in every decision made, and some would say that it is right and proper than he should, for he is high king.” He sighed. “And it would be less grating if he weren’t always so _right_.”

He was silent for a moment, and his grip on my hand had tightened.

“…What did he say to you?” I asked, though as carefully and gently as I could manage.

“Nothing controversial—nothing untrue. Only that I am, as you know, forty-four years old now, and I do not have an heir. I am unmarried, and have no close relatives or courtiers I would consider to be as such.”

“…Oh,” I said after a moment.

He blinked and looked at me.

“Oh, Laurie—no, I didn’t mean to imply that—this has nothing to do with you. Truly.” He released my hand, finally, but only so he could reach up to cup his own around my cheek, his fingertips tickling my neck under my hair. “And he will like you. They all will, when they finally meet you.”

 _When they finally meet you_. The words echoed in my head, and I couldn’t fully make sense of them—not with his rough palm pressing so gently against my cheek—and I knew he could feel how abruptly warm my skin had become beneath his own.

“I’m moving too fast again,” he murmured, smiling. “Aren’t I? Forging ahead as usual.”

He lowered his hand but took my own again, this time not hesitating before bringing it to his lips. He didn’t so much kiss it as simply press the back of my hand to his lips briefly before then clasping it in both of his.

“I’m sorry. I’m as out of practice as ever. Or perhaps I let the kiss you gave me go to my head.”

I gazed at him, desperately embarrassed now that he had brought up that silly kiss. I wanted more than anything to pull my entire tunic up over my head and perhaps even button his coat over my face for good measure.

He laughed.

“Still too much? Shall we talk more of the moot instead? Or perhaps you might tell me how you and Lord Casien have become such fast friends.”

It was hardly the term I would have used, but I welcomed the distraction nonetheless. I told him of our visit to the library, and how the diminutive king’s consort had all but taken me under his wing, making certain that I left with a pile of books to add to my to-read pile—I knew I’d never finish them all before the end of the moot. I told him how Casien’s forthrightness both amused and impressed me, that I couldn’t ever imagine being so confident, so I supposed being married to a high king had surely helped boost his own assertive tendencies. Lastly, I admitted that the reason he had sought me out in the first place was because he felt that he and I had much in common, though it had been very difficult for me to admit at first.

“How so?” asked Falk, his brow furrowing slightly. “You are both elves, I suppose, though he is Dunmer, and you are—correct me if I’m wrong—mostly Altmer.”

I nodded, and tried not to chew on my bottom lip.

“Yes, we’re both elves. He’s married to High King Ulfric. And Jon told him…” I swallowed, and tried to take a deep breath. “Jon told him about you…”

“…About you and me,” he finished gently, after it became clear that I couldn’t.

I nodded again.

“…I was embarrassed at first. I told him he was… …wrong,” I finally managed. “But I thought about it that night, and I…”

I wanted so badly to tell him that I had finally accepted his interest in me. Yet the thought of it was still so very new—and having him sitting here beside me, holding my hand, listening patiently—it was too impossible, too hard for me to collect myself, to gather my thoughts and share my true feelings that way I wished to.

He seemed to understand. He lay his hand over mine again, squeezing it between both of his, and his expression, when my eyes finally met his again, was almost soft.

“I see. Then allow me to make my own confession.” He seemed to take a breath before continuing. “I find myself coming to think about you—to care for you—a great deal. I realize our meetings have been sporadic, and I’ve only managed to show you proper attention once so far, but I should like the opportunity to do so again, and many times over.

“I know it’s a lot to ask—and you needn’t respond now if you don’t feel you can. But—I should like very much to see you—and only you.”

I stared at him, trying very hard to make sense of what he was asking me. But it sounded very much like the jarl of Haafingar Hold was asking me to be his boyfriend.

“Is that something you think you might consider?” he asked, I suppose because I still hadn’t said anything in response.

I nodded, quickly, then gave a sort of laugh, my free hand flying up to cover my mouth.

“Yes,” I said, still nodding, for I felt very silly, but I also felt very happy. “Yes.”

All of the tension seemed to leave him at once, and he smiled.

“You don’t know how happy this makes me,” he said, and then he kissed my hand again, and when he looked at me, I knew he wanted to really and _truly_ kiss me. But my lungs still seized up at the very thought of it, and for a moment I couldn’t so much as draw in a single breath. He must have noticed my reaction, for he seemed to force himself to relax again, and shifted on the bench to face me, as though to purposefully put more distance between us.

“Dearest Laurie,” he said, murmuring my name as if it were a talisman against evil, and gazing at me in a way that made me blush terribly. “If you only knew how beautiful you looked in moonlight.”

For the clouds had shifted to the east, ever so slightly, allowing the rays of the two moons to shine down on us from above. I longed to tell him I felt similarly, that the silver light made the flecks of amber in his eyes shine, but, of course, I couldn’t.

“…I like you, too,” I managed, and when he blinked at me and laughed, I knew that it wasn’t to mock me, but an expression of genuine affection.

He stood then and said that he would walk me back to my room if I liked, for it was getting late, and he had to stick to his rigid early morning schedule. Once back inside, I shrugged out of his coat and offered it back to him; he tossed it over one arm and, smiling, offered me his hand in return.

I kept my head down as we walked, for I knew that anyone who saw us walking hand-in-hand was sure to stare. Of course, I didn’t know that guards and servants were trained not to stare at their jarl, no matter what—even if he were being ridiculously gallant towards someone who was so clearly unworthy of his attentions.

Back at the door to my room, it was the night at the end of our date all over again—though I was surprisingly less nervous. He released my hand so I could fumble in my pocket for the room key, then unlock and open the door. Afterward, I slipped the key back into my pocket and turned to face him.

“I wish I could promise to see you again soon,” he said, his expression regretful, “but I fear I shouldn’t. I’m afraid I’ll have little control over my own schedule until all of this is over.”

“…But then I’ll have to leave,” I said, realizing.

He frowned.

“Leave?”

“Yes, I’m here to help Jon with the moot. I won’t have any reason to stay here after it ends.”

He seemed strangely surprised by this, though he had to have known why I was living in the palace at present—in fact I was quite sure I’d told him. But then his expression relaxed again, and he seemed almost amused.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find something for you to do,” he said.

I was half anxious, half relieved, for I didn’t wish to leave the palace—to leave _him_ , to be more precise—but a future career of pulling weeds or cleaning rooms wasn’t exactly high on my list of goals, either.

“Goodnight, Laurie,” he said, and he rather startled me by reaching up to cup my face again, his fingertips lightly stroking my skin. “Will you allow me to return the kiss you gave me?”

“…Oh,” I said, feeling my whole body become warm and my heart thump in my chest—though not in a painful or unpleasant way. “…All right.”

He smiled, and when he leaned forward, his hand sliding down so that his fingers curled lightly around my neck, he made it clear that he was moving deliberately to the right of me. It helped me relax in that brief moment, and I closed my eyes and felt the brush of his lips against my cheek, his beard tickling my skin. I tried to breathe but couldn’t, for his heady scent was in my nose, and his physical presence overwhelmed me. He was large and warm and gentle, and I liked him very much.

Then he pulled away again, and I opened my eyes and blinked at him. He smiled.

“Goodnight,” he said again.

“Goodnight,” I replied.

Then I turned and slipped into my room and finally remembered to breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterward, Falk kicks his heels together and makes a triumphant fist like that kid from the Breakfast Club.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning, I was awakened by a knock at the door.

I’d slept pretty soundly the previous night, though it had taken some time to calm myself enough to fall asleep. I couldn’t stop replaying the events of the previous evening in my head—and my brain seemed particularly hung up on the sensation of a pair of lips pressing gently against my cheek. How soon before we shared our first, real kiss? How soon before I let him pull me into his arms, kiss me with passion and desire, and…? I had to groan and silence the thought, rolling over in bed and burying my face in my pillow. But it wasn’t enough. I actually had to get up and splash my face with cold water, and in the end decided to brew myself another cup of tea. The healer had said it shouldn’t do me any harm, and a double dose was sure to send me right to sleep—and so it did.

So whoever was at my door had just woken me from a very deep sleep, and there was naturally a part of me that was not particularly happy about this. I couldn’t imagine who it might be—Jon was the only person who came to mind, for who else did I know in the palace who would show up at my door like this?

I got up, rubbing my eyes and pushing the hair out of my face as I made my way towards the door, opening it—

—And blinking in confusion at the person standing there.

“Good morning,” said Casien. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was wondering if you might want to…” He paused, his expression faltering. “By the Three… are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, a yawn escaping me before I could stop myself.

His eyes widened.

“Did I wake you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it was that early.”

He looked vaguely confused, as if he weren’t used to inconveniencing other people. I couldn’t help but take pity on him—I had a feeling this happened quite often with him.

“I have no idea what time it is,” I admitted, opening the door a little wider so he could come in—I wasn’t going to make the consort of the High King of Skyrim come back after I’d gotten myself together.

“Only a little after eight. Want me to bring in your breakfast?”

He was already lifting it from the little side table and carrying it inside with him, so I didn’t think a reply was necessary.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, after I’d closed the door behind us.

I was momentarily befuddled, placed unwittingly in the position of telling Ulfric Stormcloak’s husband where to put my breakfast as if he were a common servant. Of course, I remembered him saying that he had once worked as a servant himself, but still.

“…Anywhere’s fine,” I managed, and watched as he set it down on the little writing desk.

But now if I sat down to eat my breakfast, it would leave _him_ with nowhere to sit at all, other than the floor or the bed. This was all too much for my anxiety, especially so early in the morning, and I desperately wanted to squeeze my head between my hands and groan so loudly I’d probably give myself a sore throat.

“What’s wrong?” asked Casien—evidently, I wasn’t very good at disguising my frustration.

“…Nothing,” I said, but when he cocked his head and gave me a questioning look, I sighed. “I’m sorry, I just… I’m not used to entertaining.”

“Oh. You don’t have to worry about entertaining me. Especially since I once again invited myself to your room. _But_ …” He looked around, and, seeing no other chairs in the room, seated himself on the floor in front of the fireplace, just as he had two nights ago. “…I hate to be the bearer of bad news: entertaining is pretty much the number one duty for the spouse of a jarl. That and making sure the jarl doesn’t start another war because he woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.”

I decided to take the tray and sit down with it across from him, so that we were both sitting on the floor together. One benefit of being up at this hour—which I _did_ sometimes manage, though less and less often these days, the longer I was away from home—was the food still being hot. Today the only hot food was a pair of sausages; I offered one to my guest, but he only smiled and shook his head.

“I already ate. So… I take it from your lack of response to my comment about being the spouse of a jarl… that last night went well?”

I had just fit the piece of bread between the tongs and was about to bring it over the fire—when his question stopped me short.

“…Oh,” I said softly, lowering the tongs.

He took them from me, moving to position them so that the bread would be in a good position to toast.

“ _Oh_ ,” he repeated, smiling.

I thought about last night… the kiss, the feel of Falk’s hands holding mine, the way his eyes shone when I agreed to see him exclusively (as if I’d have to run back to my room and clear my social calendar)… I knew the comment about being married to a jarl was meant to tease me. But…

“I can’t marry a jarl,” I said, the thought causing my heart to beat rather painfully in my chest.

“You can do anything you want to do,” said my companion, “including marry whomever you want. Or date who you want, or kiss who you want, or become friends with anyone you like.” He shrugged. “That’s just sort of how life works. It took me a long time to figure that out.”

“Was this before or after you married _your_ jarl,” I asked dryly, but he only laughed.

“After,” he admitted, “Partly because he helped me realize it. And that part didn’t have anything to do with him being a jarl.” He paused, clearly thinking. “He brings out the best in me, I think. And I hope I do the same for him.”

I guessed that was how marriage was supposed to work. But the only other marriage I was intimately familiar with was my parents’, and to me, that’s just what they would always be: my parents. Sometimes they disagreed with one another, even argued, but I knew that they loved one another. Did they bring out the best in each other? I couldn’t exactly say.

“Think of it this way,” said Casien. “Jon told me you decided to become a writer. Who told you you could do that?”

“…No one,” I said, confused.

“Exactly. You wanted to be a writer, so you became one.”

I rolled my eyes. “So if I want to marry a jarl, I just go and do that.”

“Well, I think he’ll have to meet you halfway on that, but, yes.”

I sighed and reached for the tongs, pulling out the now toasted bread. How was it that the first twenty-five years of my life had seemed to move along at a crawl, and yet all of a sudden, here I was, talking about being the husband of a king _to_ a husband of a king? The fact that I was contemplating all of this while buttering my toast and sipping my tea in an elegant little room in the Blue Palace didn’t exactly escape me either.

“…I think it’s a little too early to be talking about marriage,” I finally said, feeling my face heat up a bit, for it was embarrassing to speak of something that felt so… presumptuous.

“You’re probably right,” Casien agreed. “And maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. But I guess I wouldn’t have minded a bit of guidance when it was happening to me. Even after we were engaged, and as nice as his family were to me, I still often felt alone. And I definitely didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I agreed to marry him.”

_Falk isn’t going to marry me_ , I wanted to say, if only to get him to stop implying that it was even a possibility. But, of course, I didn’t.

“So…” I eyed him as I swallowed my toast and reached for my tea. “Did you come here to watch me eat breakfast and tease me about marriage?”

His smile turned sheepish.

“Well, yes and no. I like talking to you, and I want to help if I can. But I guess I do have selfish reasons for coming to see you.”

He wanted to recruit me as his guide, he explained. This was his first time in Solitude, and he wanted rather desperately to visit the city. His husband, naturally enough, was quite busy preparing for the moot. So was Jon, the only other real friend he had here, for they’d only brought a few soldiers with them, and he knew none of them personally.

“But I’ve only been living in Solitude for a month!” I said, bewildered. “I’d be a terrible guide!”

“Then we’ll explore it together. It’ll be fun, I promise. Besides, this will probably be my last chance to explore the city before the moot starts. The only reason I’m not in any of the meetings today is because Ulfric is still convinced I need to rest.”

“How is wandering the city all day ‘resting’?” I asked, though I could already feel this was a losing battle.

“It’s hardly what I’d call strenuous activity. And it’s going to be a wonderful day, nice and warm and sunny. There’s no danger, trust me.”

I sighed. Heavily. Other than outright refusing him—which I obviously couldn’t do—there was clearly no getting out of this. I supposed I of all people knew the signs of exhaustion, so I’d just have to watch him and be careful.

“All right,” I said. “Just let me get dressed.”

I decided to pull on one of the new tunics and pairs of trousers I’d bought with Karita the other day; even so, when standing next to Lord Casien, I felt every inch the ‘farm boy’ my friends liked to call me. Though I had paid extra to have them fitted to my frame, my new clothes were still nothing compared to his. Not only were the materials themselves very fine, but they were cut and fitted to suit his figure exactly. He was not tall, but his clothes lent him a quiet nobility (that I think he was altogether unaware of). He was neither fat nor thin and instead possessed a sort of comfortable plumpness that his well-fitted clothing only accentuated and made more appealing.

“What?” he asked, when he must have noticed me staring. “Do I have something on my face?”

I sighed.

“…No, sorry.” I shouldered my satchel, which I almost always carried with me when I left the palace—plus the healer had advised always having a sachet or two of medicinal tea with me, just in case, if I were going to be away for the day. “Let’s go.”

He insisted that we not make our exit through the main entrance and instead led me down a hallway that eventually opened out into the stable yard. Then, when a pair of guards did a double take at us, he grabbed my arm and pulled me away, off the gravel pathway and through some bushes. I had to pull leaves from my hair afterward (and pulled one from his as well, though he didn’t seem to notice).

“…Is there a reason we appear to be sneaking out of the palace?” I asked, keeping my voice low as we made our cautious way through one of the ornamental gardens.

“Well,” he said, “I did tell Ulfric that I was going to try to spend the day with you. However, I _may_ have left him with the impression that we would stay in the palace. Also, I’m definitely not supposed to go into the city without an armed escort.”

“Mara preserve me,” I muttered. It seemed like each new day brought with it another chance for Ulfric Stormcloak to blame me for the inevitable death of his husband.

“Don’t worry,” said Casien, “in the past his concerns have been legitimate. But at present nobody wants me dead, unless someone’s performed the dark ritual on me without my knowing.”

“…The dark ritual?”

“A myth—well, I think it’s a myth—about praying to Sithis to get assassins to murder someone you hate. Or something like that.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Was he actually _joking_ about being assassinated? By some sort of murder goddess?

“Anyway, Ulfric also likes to pretend that I’m utterly incapable of protecting myself. So don’t worry; if anyone tries to assassinate me, I’ll just blow them up.”

“…How reassuring,” I said, as we finally found our way onto the main path leading away from the palace.

It was like taking a child to his first festival. He wanted to go everywhere, see everything. The gardens we passed through were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he lamented the impossibility of recreating them in Windhelm. The fine houses of the nobles were admired as well; he liked the little courtyards they had, the bright colors their walls were painted, how they looked out onto the sea, how each was surrounded by a pretty wooden, iron, or stone fence.

“What do houses look like in Windhelm?” I asked him.

“Gray stone on top of gray stone on top of gray stone. Everything’s gray, even in spring and summer. And in winter, hardly anyone on the streets at all, unless they have to be.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know what Solitude looks like in winter,” I said. “It’s pretty in Alverton, until it starts to melt and turns muddy.”

“That’s the worst,” he agreed. “Then Ulfric comes in from the yard and tracks it all over the rugs. Though sometimes it’s even worse after the spring rains.”

I had to smile, for worrying about one’s husband—even if he were a king—tracking mud onto the rugs was such a domestic concern.

His enthusiasm hardly dwindled once we were in the city proper. He wanted to visit a book shop first, so I took him to the one where I had first purchased copies of _The Red Rose_ , _Petal and Hummingbird_ , and _The Juniper_.

I’d never _seen_ someone so fascinated with books—and I was a writer. He spent a good half hour browsing, exclaiming over unexpected finds and getting excited over new editions. He didn’t restrict himself to a certain genre or topic, either: history, fiction, philosophy, religion, political discourse—it was all fair game to him. He eventually made his way back up to the front desk, carrying a stack of books so high he had to keep it steady with his chin. The price for so many books was astronomical, yet he pulled the coins from the purse at his belt and handed them over without a second thought.

“Could you have them sent to the Blue Palace, please?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?” said the shopkeeper, raising his eyebrows.

It was the same one who had teased me about my risqué reading selection. And this time, he was clearly torn between shock and amusement at being ordered to deliver something by a little no-name Dunmer he’d never seen before in his life.

“Oh,” said Casien, “Do you not do that here? In Windhelm they always deliver things for me. But I can send a servant down for them if you’d prefer.”

The shopkeeper’s expression darkened.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” he said, “but—

“This is Lord Casien Yedlin,” I said quickly, though I did my best to keep my voice low. “He and his husband—High King Ulfric Stormcloak—are in Solitude for the moot.”

My words had the intended result, which I’m a little ashamed to say was rather satisfying. Whereas before the man had gone flinty with indignation and contempt, his entire face now seemed to pale. He looked from me to Casien with widened eyes, and it was a moment before he could manage to get another word out.

“My… My lord? I apologize. …Of course I can have these sent to the palace. It would be my pleasure.”

“Would it?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “You didn’t seem so keen a moment ago.”

“My lord, please!” He was actually sweating now. “I live only to serve the high king. And the jarl, of course! And the high king’s husband!” he added, his eyes shifting desperately to Casien again.

Caisen, for his part, looked a little taken aback.

“Um, well, thank you? But oh, if you could make sure they’re delivered before this evening—You see, I’m not really supposed to be—

“Of course, my lord, of course!” said the shopkeeper, bowing profusely. “Before the sun dips behind the mountains, I shall send my girl down to the palace with your purchases.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have assumed they made deliveries,” said Casien, looking more than a little embarrassed as we made our way out of the bookshop. “I’ve always suspected they only do it back home on account of who I’m married to, but… still.”

“…How long have you been married?” I asked.

“It’ll be five years this Second Planting.” He sighed. “I know, I know. It’s what I’ve always feared would happen—forgetting where I’ve come from and being blinded by the privilege my marriage has lent me.”

“I wouldn’t beat yourself up for how other people choose to treat you,” I said, eyeing him as we made our way further into the city.

“No, but I shouldn’t forget how they treat those who look like me.” He was silent for a moment, then: “I suppose you have to deal with that sometimes, too.”

I looked at him, surprised.

So few people ever addressed my physical appearance directly. Falk had hinted at it the other night, but he was always so polite and courteous around me, and besides, humans never seemed to mind my visibly mixed heritage—it was the mer who sometimes gave me odd looks and made rude comments when they thought I couldn’t hear them.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I guess I’m being silly again. I don’t know why I keep trying so hard to find ways we can relate to one another.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly, though I could still feel the sudden warmth on my cheeks. “Do you… Did you have a hard time? In Windhelm?”

“Oh… I guess you wouldn’t know. Well, a lot of Nords in Skyrim don’t look kindly on elves, though I guess I can understand why, considering how the Thalmor have treated them. But in Windhelm, things were particularly bad, especially for my own people. I’ve been working hard to change that, but… it’s going to take time.”

Hearing this helped a few of my experiences here in Solitude finally click into place. The innkeeper at the Skeever’s _interest_ in me, the comments from the men who attacked me in the dark alley, even the suspicion of the guards at the palace—I hadn’t recognized it initially as discrimination, but now I felt almost foolish for not having done so before.

“…How does your husband feel about the changes you’re trying to make?” I asked.

“He supports them. And me, I suppose. I think I had blinders on when we first fell in love, not that I fault myself for that. But like I said—I think we’ve both been a good influence on one another.”

This was a roundabout way of saying, I felt, that his king had _not_ supported those changes initially, or had at least been blind to the issues occurring in his city. That Casien could love him despite this, and believe him capable of change… I supposed it was a testament to the power and influence of love.

Or maybe I was just too much of a romantic for my own good. I sighed, pushing the self-deprecating thought aside.

“…It wasn’t always easy,” I eventually said, “growing up looking like this. But… most of the time, people were nice about it, or didn’t seem to notice. And I always liked believing that I could be a mix of both my mothers’ races.”

“What are they?” he asked, smiling again.

“Altmer and Breton. But I don’t know. I don’t think I would be so thin if I were part Breton.”

“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing. You can’t be something you aren’t. So why not embrace what you are?”

These were brave words coming from a tiny Dunmer married to one of the biggest, most intimidating Nord men I’d ever encountered. Which I suppose was what leant them such authority. Still… I wouldn’t have minded being so round and cute, and with a fierce husband who apparently doted on my every word to boot.

We visited several more shops, and I was careful to keep our wandering restricted to the main streets that cut through the center of the city. When he realized I didn’t intend to buy anything for myself, he offered to buy things for me. At first I refused, but he was so eager, so enthusiastic about the lovely lavender smell of this particular bar of soap, or the soft luster of a pretty green cloak he claimed made my gray eyes seem almost silver, that I occasionally relented.

All of these items he had, like his books, sent back to the palace, though he was now very careful to quietly introduce himself to the seller and ask if this was a service they would consider providing. No one doubted his identity, though I supposed by now most in the city—especially those who peddled their wares along the main thoroughfare—knew of the arrival of High King Ulfric. And the fact that he was so finely dressed and spoke so politely must have helped. I’m pretty sure several of the sellers and shopkeepers assumed I was his servant, too, though he didn’t seem to notice, and as I didn’t really mind the assumption, I didn’t say anything.

For lunch, I suggested we head over to the Skeever, for I thought it might be fun to introduce him to Karita. Unfortunately, when we arrived, Sorex informed us that she was out with his sister again, and probably wouldn’t be back until dinnertime so she could perform. I then suggested eating somewhere that could, in fact, guarantee beef in the stew, but he declined, saying he liked the thought of having lunch in a tavern.

“You sound like Jon,” I said, once Sorex took our orders.

“Oh? I suppose we have a lot in common, though he’s wrong about me attending the college here in Solitude. I _like_ things like theatre and music and poetry, but I’m not actually any good at _creating_ them. I once tried to write a poem for Ulfric’s birthday.” He made a face, shuddering. “Horrific. Just _horrific_.”

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. He painted such a lovely picture as the poetry-loving husband of such a fierce, intimidating man like Ulfric Stormcloak.

“I’m sure he liked it anyway,” I said. “Since it came from you.”

“I think he made fun of it before then making fun of _me_. But at least there was kissing involved.”

I felt a flush come over me at the mention of kissing, for though I’d admitted to having no real experience with relationships, I hadn’t told him I’d never even shared a _kiss_ with someone. The thought made me ache inside, for despite my childhood crushes, I finally had someone I _wanted_ to kiss—yet the thought of doing so still made my heart beat fast and my lungs seize up, no matter how much tea I drank beforehand.

Not that I was going to let my own anxiety deter me. And beyond kissing? I was beginning to want _that_ more and more, with each passing day, each passing thought of a man with soft lips, large hands, and eyes that resembled the sun setting over the ocean.

I bit my lip, my hand coming to rest absently over my heart.

“Can I… ask you about that?” I asked, and already I could feel that my face had bloomed hot, and I wanted to immediately take back what I’d just uttered.

He blinked at me. “About what?”

When I couldn’t seem to get the words out, he reacted just as Jon and Karita always did: leaning forward, resting his hand over my arm, and gazing at me with concern.

“Take your time,” he said. “And please don’t be nervous around me. Honestly, you can ask me anything. I promise.”

I nodded, and took another quick breath, doing my best to steady my breathing.

“About kissing,” I said, and strangely enough, as soon as I said it, I felt a lot of my fear and embarrassment fade away. “And… other things.”

He sat back again, clearly a little surprised, but then his expression relaxed again almost immediately. He gave me a soft, sweet smile, followed by a happy, little nod. And I felt so relieved I could almost cry—and I wasn’t exactly one for shedding tears, even in the most dire of circumstances.

The first thing he reassured me about was that I really had no reason to be nervous. Falk was an experienced kisser and would know what to do. Would he be able to tell how inexperienced I was? _Yes_ , he admitted, but he wouldn’t care. Your partner didn’t care about things like that, he explained. And a good partner relished the idea of creating new experiences with you.

“I know this is going to sound stupid,” I said, staring down at the table between us because it was just too embarrassing to meet his eyes. “I mean, I know _how_ things work, I just…”

He gave a little laugh, though it was clearly self-deprecating.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I never really worried about that sort of thing. You actually kind of learn about sex together—no matter how many partners you’ve both had in the past. Because, I don’t know, each person is different; you like or love them in different ways, and you want to do different things with them. And, um, try different things, I guess. But the point is, when it’s someone you _really_ care about, it’s okay to make mistakes. Trust me, he’ll be laughing with you, not at you.”

I don’t know why or how, but what he said greatly relieved me. I think I hadn’t even been aware of how anxious I’d been about it—that if or when it did happen, my new lover would be disappointed. But when I tried to think of what _he_ could possibly do to disappoint _me_ , short of being something he wasn’t—aggressive or selfish or cruel, for instance—I couldn’t really come up with anything.

And if we liked one another enough we might even try it again, and again, and again…

I was glad when Sorex returned with our drinks, for I definitely needed something cold to guzzle down and hopefully cleanse my thoughts—well, not that there was really anything _wrong_ with thinking such things, but it was hardly the time or place.

“Oh,” said Sorex, “I almost forgot. This came for you today. I was going to have someone run it up to the palace, so I guess you coming here saved me a couple coppers.”

When he pulled the letter from his pocket—slightly crumpled and slightly damp, but I supposed I’d not hold it against him—I recognized the writing on the address immediately.

“…My parents!!” I cried, snatching the letter excitedly from him and coming dangerously close to ripping it as I pulled it from the envelope.

_My dearest, sweetest boy—_

I didn’t need to see the elegant swoop of the script to know which of my mothers had written the first note. I laughed, my hand going absently over my mouth, but then I quickly glanced at Casien.

“Do you mind if I read it?” I asked, for I supposed it would be terribly rude to do so in front of him.

“Of course not,” he said, smiling.

In the end, I was happy to share the contents with him anyway, though it was probably hardly interesting to outside eyes and ears. Each of my mothers had written to me separately. The first told me how much she missed me, how much she missed hearing me move about in my room or seeing me outside in the garden or with the animals. She missed cooking my favorite meals or sewing me new clothes, though she assured me she had a nice, fresh pair of trousers ready for me to try on as soon as I returned home. Only after this did she reassure me of her love and support—that she was only disappointed about the college because _I_ had been disappointed, but that she was very happy to hear of my success so far as a writer. She ended with telling me to be safe, to walk only in well-populated, well-lit areas, and to try to spend as much time as I possibly could with my new friends, whom she couldn’t wait to meet.

My other mother got straight to the point. She told me rather sternly that I had better not be feeling sorry for myself, for I was still a great musician, and that hadn’t changed. She ordered me to send her a copy of the journals I was to be printed in, and jokingly asked for credit on Francesca and Francis’ story—which would have been well-earned, for both my parents had often helped me brainstorm. She, too, was happy to hear that I’d made friends, and urged me to rely on them if I needed them. _You can be very independent, Laurie, and not that that’s a bad thing, but sometimes it can also be good to rely on other people_ , she wrote. The note concluded with a reminder that she was eager to see me again, and that I only had to say the word, and they would come and visit.

I couldn’t help smiling at the subtle differences between the two. One obliquely referenced my returning home, while the other was clearly encouraging me to continue my endeavors here in Solitude. Both, however, seemed eager to reassure me that I hadn’t failed them, and though I’d already come to this conclusion myself, it felt good to see it written in their own hands.

“They sound lovely,” said Casien. He sounded almost wistful, but I didn’t want to pry. “You must really miss them.”

“I do,” I admitted, refolding the letter and slipping it into my pocket so it wouldn’t get dirty, and I could re-read it later. “I know they want to visit. I’m just not sure when they’ll be able to.”

He gave me a playful look.

“Do they know about…?”

“…No,” I said, rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling, either. “Nothing had really happened yet, the last time I wrote them. But… I guess I have a bit to tell them now.”

“A bit,” he agreed, grinning.

“Lord Casien?”

Casien froze, his eyes going momentarily wide. I glanced past his shoulder and saw two armed men approaching us. My heart immediately leapt up into my throat as all sorts of wild scenarios began to play out in my mind, chief of which was this ‘dark ritual’ Casien had mentioned earlier.

But apparently, the men were not here to assassinate my companion.

“How did you find me?” asked Casien, frowning.

The men came to a stop before us, and the one who had spoken shrugged, one hand resting on the hilt on his sword.

“Not too difficult, my lord; after all, General Galmar recommended us on purpose since we know your tendencies back in Windhelm and have gotten quite good at tracking you down.”

“Jarl Ulfric had us check on your friend, first,” said the second guard, nodding at me. “After that, it was pretty easy.”

“Checked a couple bookshops,” said the first guard. “Sure enough, one of them had seen you.”

“Lord Jon told us about the tavern, so it was a straight shot from there to here.”

“…These are your husband’s soldiers?” I finally managed to ask, once my heart had stopped rattling around in my chest.

“Oh, yes,” said Casien. “This is Gerad and Nold. They’re two of the soldiers who sailed with us from Windhelm. Gerad, Nold, this is my friend, Laurie.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the first guard, nodding at me.

“We’ll not disturb your lunch,” said the second guard, speaking to Casien again. “And we’ll keep our distance afterward, but I’m afraid we have to stay with you, my lord. Jarl’s orders.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Casien, sighing. “Have a seat. You don’t mind, do you, Laurie?”

I did, in a way, for I was nervous around strangers, and the two men being armed and armored to the teeth didn’t exactly make me easier in their presence. But I could hardly say as much, so I simply shook my head. The guards at least sat a few chairs down from us, though the easy way they proceeded to order drinks and lunch told me that this was not the first time they’d done this.

“Sorry,” said Casien. “I didn’t think he’d notice I was gone so quickly.”

“Are you really not allowed to go anywhere on your own?”

It seemed a terrible way to live, but I supposed, in the end, it might be a small price to pay for being incredibly wealthy and married to a high king.

“I don’t know that I’d use the word ‘allowed,’ but, yes. They do tend to be more discreet about it in Windhelm. I guess it’s sort of like, I know they’re there, and they know I know they’re there, but none of us really acknowledges it. It’s just less awkward that way.”

After we finished our lunch, I asked him if he’d like to go anywhere else, but he said we may as well head back to the palace. Exploring the city wouldn’t be quite as fun with Gerad and Nold tailing us like hounds on a hare. He also assumed his husband was likely worried about him—and I thought it was indicative of the rather interesting dynamic they appeared to have, that Ulfric could send his guards after Casien, and Casien’s immediate response to that was _concern_ for his husband.

He remained in good spirits as we made our way back towards the palace, the guards ambling along behind us. He said that I should come to dinner tonight with all the other jarls and their families, but I said I hadn’t been invited, and I certainly didn’t think it appropriate for me to just show up.

“I’m pretty sure Falk would be beside himself with joy if you did,” he said, giving me a playful look.

“…Maybe,” I said, not wanting to admit that I could never, ever work up the nerve to do such a thing.

It was starting to rain again, by the time we made it back to the palace proper, and Casien’s mood faltered a bit, for he felt sure his husband’s worry would only increase with the knowledge that he’d gotten rained on. He said I should come with him back to his rooms, since all of the items I’d purchased (or, rather, that he’d purchased for me) would have been sent back there. He was certain Ulfric wouldn’t be here, if that’s what I was worried about; he was probably in a meeting.

He was wrong.

The high king must have been pacing, or gazing anxiously out the window in the sitting room that looked out onto the front courtyard below, for I don’t know why else he would have been standing there, gazing across the room at us as if he’d been expecting our imminent return.

“Casien,” he said, moving forward and cupping his husband’s face with his hands, his expression a mixture of anger and concern.

“I’m back,” said Casien, smiling.

Ulfric’s frown deepened, and he lay the back of his hand briefly against his husband’s forehead before huffing softly under his breath.

“Why do you insist on endangering yourself?” he asked, though he didn’t seem to expect an answer. “We should have brought the healer with us. I cannot speak to the competency of the woman Falk keeps here.”

“She’s more than competent,” Casien reassured, and I supposed they were speaking about Healer Errin. “Jon said she helped Laurie when he was ill. Right, Laurie?”

I froze. Ulfric looked to me next, and it was as though he’d just realized I was even in the room at all. I also added this new bit of indiscretion to my list of reasons to kick Jon in the shin the next time I saw him.

“Then he should know better,” said the king, “and not indulge my wayward husband so readily.”

I think I actually stopped breathing. My limbs felt like ice; I wanted nothing more than to run out of the room and away from the wrath of the great man before me, but my feet were still rooted to the ground.

“Ulfric,” said Casien, sounding genuinely annoyed now. “Don’t speak to him like that. Remember what we talked about?”

Ulfric seemed to start, blinking, his eyes meeting his husband’s before looking at me again.

“My apologies. Your friend has nothing to fear for me.” He frowned. “Though Falk would do well to attend to his safety as I attend to yours.”

“Well, that’s between the two of them,” said Casien, then he patted his husband’s arm. “Why don’t you go into the bedroom while I give Laurie his things.”

“Am I not allowed to stand here in my own sitting room?”

“This isn’t technically your sitting room. And you frighten Laurie.”

The high king rolled his eyes but, surprisingly, did as he was bid, disappearing into the bedroom.

“Sorry about that,” said Casien, going to rummage in the bags and boxes which had evidently been delivered earlier and placed on one of the sofas. “He can be a bit much if you’re not used to him.”

“I _can_ still hear you,” rumbled his husband from the other room.

“Looks like they haven’t delivered my books yet,” said Casien, “but all your things are here, at least. Shall I put them all in one box?”

Fifteen minutes later, I was back in my room, sorting through my pile of luxury soaps, scented candles (I hadn’t realized such things even existed), packaged chocolates and sweets, ties and beads for my hair (“The next time you have dinner with Falk you should braid some of your hair back”), and, of course, my new cloak. It was more than I’d purchased in one outing in my entire life—and I hadn’t paid for any of it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working on writing and edits. In the evening, just after dinner, Jon stopped by to give me the news—Jarl Dengeir and Aliss Felgeif, the daughter and heir of Jarl Skald, had both finally arrived. With everyone present and now accounted for, the moot would officially begin tomorrow morning. He promised to come and fetch me around nine.

“Try not to be nervous,” he said. “Some of them may seem a bit pompous and gruff, but remember what I told you about Falk? It’s the same for all the rest. At the end of the day, they’re just people, same as you and me.”

“I actually don’t think I’m nervous,” I admitted.

Of course, maybe that was because I’d now spent two whole days listening to Casien Yedlin talk about the ins and outs of married life. I’d even been scolded by Ulfric Stormcloak himself—and then promptly been issued an apology.

“That’s good,” said Jon, looking relieved. “Wish I could say the same for myself. Wait—why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” I said.

“Oh, shit—were you really with Casien today? I’m sorry, but Ulfric’s guards _really_ wanted to know where you two might be, so I suggested the Skeever. Was I right?”

I sighed, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

“I don’t mind about the guards,” I said. “Really. But it really feels like you told Lord Casien _everything_ about me.” I gave him another look. “Even things that aren’t necessarily true.”

Rather than apologize the way he _ought_ to have done, Jon’s anxious expression merely transformed into a grin.

“What?” he said. “You mean about you and Falk being in love? Ow!”

He laughed and jumped back, rubbing his shoulder where I’d smacked him. I threatened to hit him again until he apologized and promised to STOP gossiping about me to the high king’s husband—or anyone else, for that matter.

After he left, I decided I may as well sit down and pen my reply to my parents. I think in the back of my mind I’d been putting it off, for I knew I’d have to tell them the truth about Falk—to a degree, at least. I’m not sure why I was so anxious about it. Of course, I could have kept it from them, but it felt wrong to do so. I shouldn’t feel ashamed and embarrassed to be the object of a good man’s affections.

But I guess, in a way, I was.

//

_Dear Mothers,_

_I received your letter today. I’m very happy to hear you’re both well._

_My writing is going well. I spoke with the editor at_ The Red Rose _, and despite being a little on the gruff side and having no qualms about telling me how and where I could improve, he seemed very supportive of my story. I’ve been learning to take criticism, both from him and from the editors of_ The Bee and Butterfly _. I don’t always agree with them, but most of the time, I can see why they want something the way they want it._

_I didn’t tell you earlier, but my friend Jon works at the palace here in the city. I hope you can believe me when I tell you he is actually married to a jarl—in Skyrim, this is something like a king or queen. She is jarl of a place called Whiterun Hold, far to the south, but Jon has been living here for a year as a student at the bard’s college. He and I sometimes play together, but his true gift is poetry. I’ll have to send you a copy of some of his ballads. My favorites are the ones he has written to his wife—they’re romantic and sweet, just like Jon. I think you would both love him, and Karita, too._

_Skyrim’s high king has decided to call a moot here in Solitude, which is their word for a great meeting of kings and queens. Since his wife can’t attend, Jon must stand in her place, and he’s been quite nervous about it. He asked me to come with him, to take notes during the meeting and help him if I could; in exchange, I may live here in the palace. It’s been something, juggling my new duties as note-taker (though the moot hasn’t officially begun yet) with my writing and playing—I still practice my lute, and play with Jon and Karita as often as I can. But for the moment, I’m living rent-free, and still earning money from_ The Rose _and_ The Bee and Butterfly.

_I have played for someone else, too, though it was merely a chance encounter. I didn’t tell you because I thought that I would never see him again. He lives here in the palace—I could tell you more about him, but I think I shouldn’t tell you everything at once, or else you’ll think I’ve gone mad and have made half of this up. But I promise I haven’t._

_He is very handsome, though a little older than me. He told me my playing was beautiful, and when I met him again, he was so kind to me. In the palace, I ran into him again, and he asked me to dinner. I accepted._

_It was wonderful._ He _is wonderful. I’ve never felt like this before, and I don’t really know what it means. Yesterday he told me he wanted to see me and only me, and asked if I felt the same about him. I said that I did._

_I think you must be very worried now—that I will be very silly about this, especially without you both here to guide me. But I have my friends, and I have him. I’m not so stupid as to think the sun rises and sets behind his eyes. But the thing is, I’ve never said this to anyone, not even myself, and now I’m going to write it here, for you: I think I’m falling in love with him._

_Please don’t be afraid for me. If it doesn’t work out between the two of us, I know I’ll be fine. And if it does—I hope you’ll one day be able to meet him._

_For now, I’ll say good-bye. I miss you both so very much. I don’t know what will happen after the moot ends, if I shall truly be able to make it here in Solitude. But though the thought makes me anxious, I know in the end that I don’t really have any reason to be afraid. Because I know that I will always have the two of you to come home to._

_Love,  
Laurie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casien references the time he tried to write Ulfric a poem. You can read about it [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245847/chapters/53815582).
> 
> He also tells Laurie that he never worried about sex once he was with Ulfric. This isn't necessarily true, as you can see [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245847/chapters/45768298).


	18. Chapter 18

I must have been a little more nervous than I realized for I woke up quite early the next day. By the time Jon arrived to fetch me, I’d already dressed and eaten my breakfast. I also tied my hair back with one of the (admittedly rather handsome and elegant) hair ties Casien had purchased for me the previous day, for I felt it would make me less conspicuous—I was only a note-taker, after all.

Jon, however, seemed to disagree.

“You’re not wearing your hair like that,” he asked, groaning. “Are you?”

I blinked. “Should I not?” Was it really that unflattering?

“It’s just that it makes you look _different_. And that means Falk’s probably going to have hearts for eyes every time he looks at you.”

“…And that’s a bad thing?” I asked, forcing a laugh and tugging self-consciously on the end of my ponytail.

“Yes? Because it means then _you’ll_ be looking back at _him_ with hearts for eyes and forget to take notes for me.”

I rolled my eyes and swatted him with my notebook after locking my bedroom door behind me. Then the two of us began to make our way towards the Pelagius Wing meeting room.

“So, I take it something happened between you two.”

“Nothing’s happened,” I said, trying very hard not to think of a pair of soft lips pressing warmly against my cheek. “You’re imagining things.”

“Well, this is without a doubt the least nervous I’ve ever seen you, and we’re about to go to a _moot_. Plus you didn’t even turn red when I joked about Falk staring at you just now.”

“…So?” I asked, rolling my eyes again.

“Ha, spoke too soon, I guess. What did he do? Declare his passionate devotion to you? Get down on one knee? Ask you to dinner again?”

“He doesn’t have time to eat dinner with me,” I said. “He’s with you and the others every night, remember?”

“True, true. And do I detect a note of bitterness about that?”

“You detect a note of annoyance. And if you keep it up, you’re going to wake up one morning with no eyebrows.”

He gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would,” I said. “And your beard, too.”

“Threatening a Nord’s beard is serious stuff, Laurie.” When I didn’t respond, he made a groaning, whining sound deep in his throat. “Come on, give me _some_ thing. Your love life is the only entertainment I have these days. Do you know what it’s like to have to sit through meeting after meeting after meeting with the most boring blowhards in all of Tamriel—”

“Jon Battle-Born.”

We both stopped short and stared at the man who’d addressed us. He was a Nord, his face drawn and shadowed with sun spots and his hair snowy-white. But he was tall and strong, as all Nords seemed to be, regardless of age, sex, or station in life.

“Thadgeir!” said Jon, paling noticeably.

_Thadgeir_. I knew from all my studying that he was the brother of Dengeir, jarl of Falkreath. I blinked and looked at Jon in alarm; had Thadgeir heard what he’d just—

“That is indeed my name,” he said, arching a brow at Jon. “On your way to the moot?” His eyes shifted to me. “And who is this?”

“This is Laurie,” said Jon. “He’s offered to take notes for me. I’m, ah, not what you’d call an experienced statesman, so I guess you could say I need all the help I can get.”

“I see.” He continued to eye me, and I tried my best not to wilt—he also towered over me, which was saying something. “He’ll have to work extra hard, I suppose, to keep you awake amidst so many old blowhards.”

He turned away from us then without saying another word and continued making his way towards the meeting room. Jon let out a heavy breath, his whole body sagging.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “I’m an idiot.”

“You are,” I said, patting him consolingly on the shoulder. “You’re lucky your wife still loves you.”

I yelped then when he yanked my ponytail, and made him hold my pen and notebook so I could retie it. Then he had the gall to tease me about wanting to ‘look pretty for Falk’ the entire rest of the way to the meeting room.

“Let me rephrase that,” I muttered as we approached the double doors. “It’s a literal _miracle_ your wife still loves you.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” he chirped before pushing open one of the doors and leading the way into the room.

The room looked much the same as it had when Jon had taken me here a few days ago—the only difference being, of course, that it was now packed with people. There were glasses of water and trays of fruit, cheese, and other light snacks laid out as well, and servants were bustling about the room, pushing open the windows to let the cool air in, positioning the trays of food, or pausing to receive orders from either their superiors or the jarls and their associates.

My eyes went automatically to the head of the table, but the chair there was empty.

I didn’t spot him until Jon had pulled me halfway across the room. He was standing not far from easternmost fireplace, hands behind his back as usual. His coat was green this time, and more fitted to his form than the blue overcoat he’d been wearing the other night. His trousers were dark brown, and like all the other jarls in the room, he wore a sword strapped to his belt. He was listening to an elderly man who appeared to be gesticulating rapidly as he spoke—I blanched when I saw Thadgeir come and stand beside the man, who I now assumed must be his brother, Jarl Dengeir. Thadgeir looked across the room, his eyes meeting mine, and I hastily looked away.

Movement directly across the table caught my eye—it was Casien, smiling a little and offering me a silent little wave. I smiled and waved back, after awkwardly seating myself beside Jon and behind the little placard that had ‘Whiterun Hold’ carved into the front. Casien’s husband was leaning to his left, elbow resting on the arm of his chair, listening to a much younger man I presumed must be Harrald Law-Giver, for he sat behind the ‘Riften Hold’ placard. Harrald kept his voice low, and his demeanor suggested that he had no wish to upset his listener. Ulfric, after a moment, looked away from Harrald and glanced at me—I immediately froze, my heart thumping unpleasantly in my chest. Casien followed my gaze, then frowned and elbowed his husband, who started and arched a brow at him, but otherwise seemed to take the admonishment in stride.

“Well, it looks like we’re all here,” said Falk, and of course my eyes were then immediately drawn to him. He now stood behind his chair, a carefully pleasant expression on his face. “Might we all take our seats so that we can get started?”

“The sooner we do, the sooner we find out what this nonsense is all about,” said Dengeir, who appeared not to have been mollified by whatever it was he and Falk had been discussing.

“I personally would be hesitant to preemptively refer to something I know nothing about as ‘nonsense’,” said Harrald, reaching for a glass of water.

“Yet whatever it is, it’s clearly not important enough for your mother to bother making the journey herself,” snapped Dengeir.

Harrald froze.

“My mother is ill,” came the clipped response. “And thus sent her heir in her stead.”

_Jarl Laila ill_ , I remembered to jot down in my notebook. I thought to add: _Dengeir not in favor of moot_.

“Gentlemen,” said Falk smoothly, “if you could hold your disagreement until we have officially begun?”

He spoke so smoothly and inoffensively, neither Dengeir nor Harrald seemed to mind the interruption. His eyes happened to meet mine, and he blinked and smiled a little before quickly averting his gaze again. I felt my face flare hot for some unknown reason and hoped none of the others had noticed.

“Thank you,” he said, finally seating himself—the last to do so. “I’d like to first formally welcome you all to Solitude. I hope you’ve found the accommodations here at the Blue Palace acceptable and that you continue to enjoy your stay here in our great city. I apologize for the unseasonably warm weather we were having a few days ago, though it seems the recent storm has settled things considerably.”

“Your city is as lovely as ever,” said a woman behind the Morthal placard—Jarl Sorli, I presumed. “I’ve especially enjoyed your beautiful gardens—though I hear talk of a private rooftop garden that puts all the others to shame.”

“It _is_ beautiful,” said Casien. “The most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh?” said Sorli, blinking. “What’s this? Falk, are you giving private tours of the palace and not inviting some of us?”

“No, you just have to be the type to enjoy wandering where you don’t belong,” said Casien, smiling a little, and Sorli laughed.

“You are all welcome to tour the palace, of course, including the rooftop garden,” said Falk. “I’d be happy to be your personal tour guide, and when I’m not available, you’ve only to ask my steward.

“Now, as to why we’ve all gathered here today—you may be wondering why I’m the one leading this discussion when it is our high king who has called this moot—as is his legal right, of course.” He nodded at Ulfric, and while it seemed clear to me that there was no lost love between the two of them, Falk’s cautious respect for Ulfric was genuine. “As host, Ulfric has graciously allowed me to do so. However, I would like to immediately give him the opportunity to discuss with you all his plans for the near future—which, as always, closely involve the viability and protection of a newly independent Skyrim.”

At these final words, Ulfric went very still. His eyes narrowed as he gazed down the table at Falk, and his jaw seemed to clench beneath his beard.

“Well, Falk Firebeard,” he eventually said. “I would have thought you above such petty political maneuverings.”

“It is not political,” said Falk, who somehow managed to keep his voice and expression calm. “And I realize this isn’t quite as we discussed it, but I don’t think—that is, I believe it should be the first point of discussion on our agenda.”

“You believe.”

Falk held his high king’s gaze, though I noticed his fingers curling slightly against the arms of his chair.

“I do.”

I glanced at Jon, who glanced at me, too, and who now looked as nervous and confused as I now felt. The other jarls and their retinues all shifted, some murmuring amongst one another. Casien, I noticed, touched his husband’s arm and leaned over, tilting his head up and whispering something into Ulfric’s ear. Ulfric’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he lay his own hand over his husband’s, almost absently, it seemed, and some of the tension appeared to finally leave his body.

“Very well,” he finally said, immediately regaining the attention of the others. “This moot has been called as a courtesy to the eight of you who rule your holds with the honor and dignity I know you are all too cognizant of. But the primary purpose has already been decided—indeed, has already been put into action.” His eyes met Falk’s, and I could see that this—whatever _this_ was—was not quite finished between them—but he would set it aside for now. “The Dominion will not remain silent forever, and the Empire still gnashes its teeth at our southern borders. Skyrim is strong—but she needs allies.”

“Allies!” cried Jarl Thongvar, but he was only the first. The rest of the table erupted in chaos, some echoing Thongvar’s dismay, others yelling that this should not have been kept secret from them, and that the jarls, all of them, should have been included in making such a decision.

“In that you are not precisely correct,” said Falk, speaking to Dengeir, who was the most vocal and most visibly angry at not being consulted. “Ulfric is our high king. On matters that pertain to all of Skyrim, his word, and his word alone, is law.”

“Then perhaps the _law_ should change,” said Dengeir, ignoring the warning looks his brother was giving him.

“Our laws are as old as the land itself,” said Ulfric, his low, calm voice cutting through the wild frenzy of the others. “As old as the gods. We are not so inconstant in our decisions as are our enemies. Jarl Dengeir of Stuhn—if you object to my rule, you know what you must do.”

The room went abruptly silent.

“…My… brother has no wish to challenge you for the position of high king,” Thadgeir finally said, for Dengeir had gone pale as a sheet and seemed incapable of responding. “We apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“Apology accepted,” said Ulfric, his eyes holding the other jarl’s until Dengeir pressed his lips together and finally looked away.

“Skyrim needs allies,” Ulfric continued. “And as many of you know, I have been seeking them out since summer of last year. They are due to arrive on our shores any day now.”

“Who are these allies?” asked Sorli, frowning.

“King Alain Delacour of Farrun and Queen Elora Charpentier of Jehanna,” said Casien, surprising everyone, I think—except maybe myself. “And you should know that the moot was my idea, so if you want to be angry with anyone, you should be angry with me.”

“With respect, Lord Casien,” said Jarl Korir, “You are not high king. Your husband is.”

“I believe he is aware of the distinction,” said Ulfric, and Korir immediately paled.

“Of course,” he said, “I was merely trying to say—

“It’s all right,” said Caisen, then he probably surprised the entire table again by giving his husband’s arm a chastising little tap. “You don’t have to be so protective of me.”

“Hm,” came the noncommittal response, and there were actually a few ripples of laughter around the room.

“So we seek an alliance with these Breton monarchs?” asked Aliss Felgeif, Jarl Skald’s heir and daughter. She was tall and burly, her brown hair streaked with gray, and was probably the most intimidating Nord woman I had ever lain eyes on.

“We do,” said Casien, “As you know, we began discussions with Farrun last summer. This moot is the fruition of those efforts.”

“Perhaps it should be made clear,” said Falk. “Northern High Rock needs our backing far more than we need theirs. As I understand it, this is only the beginning of a new coalition of nations who choose to stand against both the Empire and the Dominion—independent, yet together.”

“Far be it from me to seem to ever doubt your decisions, Ulfric,” said Thongvar. “But how do we know we can trust the word of foreign monarchs?”

“I imagine we can’t,” said Jon. “I’ve never met this…” He paused to glance down at my notes, “Queen Elora and King Alain. But you all know what Whiterun was like before the war. Believe me: only a fool passes up an opportunity to turn a potential enemy into an ally.”

“Or a wife?” asked Aliss Felgeif, snorting, though she seemed more amused than anything.

“There are few pleasures greater on this earth than a wife,” he agreed, smiling and blushing—bless him. “And I say that as a man who’s been separated from mine for a year. But as I _am_ already so happily married, and I believe King Alain is as well, perhaps someone else would like to make an offer to Queen Elora?” His lips twitched. “Harrald?”

Harrald Law-Giver, of all things, blushed—then scowled.

“Elora Charpentier will not be arriving in Solitude in search of a husband,” said Ulfric, and while he seemed unaffected by Jon’s apparent barb, Casien was staring at Jon with wide eyes. “She will be looking to learn what assistance she can expect from Skyrim if and when the Empire retaliates against northern High Rock for its defection.”

“So you wish to lead us into yet another war,” said Korir, who’d apparently regained his spine.

“If the Empire chooses to force the issue, they will find the might of Skyrim arrived upon the shores of Farrun and Jehanna. I suspect it will make them reconsider their decision.”

“Then… it truly is a coalition,” said Sorli, speaking above the sudden rush of murmurs and whispers about the table. “You’re looking to avoid war—not start it.”

“In my heart, I believe war is inevitable,” said Ulfric. “Though I know not when it will come—perhaps when we are all dead and gone to Sovngarde. But until then, yes. I seek to stay that inevitable tide.”

“My father supported you in the civil war,” said Aliss. “And I rode south with four hundred of our best soldiers to join your march to Solitude. But he never questioned your decision to oppose the Empire. I, however, cannot say the same.” She frowned. “You are rightful high king, Ulfric Stormcloak. But if war happens, it will be because of you and your actions.”

“Your blade and shield were right beside my own,” said Ulfric, who surprisingly looked more amused than angered by the accusation. “You had my back in battle, and I yours, more than once if I recall. There is enough blame to go around, daughter of Skald.”

“All those keen to point the finger need look no further than our southern neighbors,” said Falk. Here, his own jaw clenched, and he swallowed, his eyes refusing to meet Ulfric’s. “I may not agree with—all actions taken before the war. But it is the Empire who forced the issue. It is the Empire who betrayed us, and it is their masters, the Dominion, who watched from the sidelines in glee as we tore one another to pieces.”

“Well said,” said Thongvar, and I knew from my recent study sessions that before the civil war, Dominion presence had been particularly omnipresent in his city, Markath—to the point that their embassy openly swayed the decision-making of the previous jarl.

The meeting continued for the next several hours. The discussion remained centered on the arrival of the High Rock monarchs for the first hour or so, with most wanting to know what sort of agreement, if any, had already been made with them. So far as I could tell, nothing had yet been decided, though Ulfric seemed careful to remind them all that any parlay taking place between Skyrim and the two northern High Rock provinces would take place between himself and the High Rock monarchs. The other jarls had been called to offer their thoughts and opinions as a courtesy and show of respect—not that I gathered Ulfric genuinely respected them all. Dengeir was clearly contrary almost for the sake of being so, while Thongvar and Korir were sycophants. Aliss he appeared to consider an equal, at least on the battlefield, and Jon and Harrald were too young and too new to their positions as heir and consort respectively, but neither did he ignore them when they had something to say. Sorli seemed a steady, agreeable sort of woman, but she seemed to know little of war. (I could relate—but then, I knew little of governing, either.) She sometimes waited to hear what Falk would say before amiably offering to agree with whatever position he had taken—which wasn’t surprising, considering how closely linked the economy of the Hjaalmarch was to Solitude.

What _was_ surprising, at least to me, was how often Falk supported Ulfric. They were still at odds with one another—Ulfric had obviously not forgiven him for revealing his plans at the very top of the meeting. Yet they, along with Casien’s occasional attempts to soothe egos or inject a bit of lighthearted banter into the proceedings, were a united front. It was a true meeting of East and West, and even my politically uninclined mind managed to pick up on it.

As for Jon, he relied on my note-taking more than once. It relieved me in a way to know that my presence was not superfluous, and I was honestly a little surprised that no one objected to it. But Sorli had her husband and an Argonian advisor with her; Dengeir had his brother; several of the jarls had their spouses; and Aliss had an older, white-haired, clean-shaven man who occasionally murmured something into her ear—probably one of her father’s experienced retainers. I supposed they assumed I was acting in a similar role—which would have been ludicrous if true.

Lunch was eventually served, after which the meeting was to be adjourned for the day. I didn’t wish to stay for lunch—it would likely involve socializing, and I was half-terrified, half-anxious that Falk would come and speak to me in front of everyone. But Jon urged me to stay, saying there was no reason why I shouldn’t get to eat along with everybody else. I wasn’t a servant, and even if I were, that didn’t mean I wasn’t good enough to eat at the same table as the rest of them.

Of course, once our food was served, the question I was waiting for finally came.

“Did you know?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he began to poke at his salad.

He didn’t specify, but I knew what he was referring to—and I supposed I hadn’t really made an effort to feign surprise at Ulfric’s announcement. But before I could swallow my shame and figure out how to answer him, someone plopped his plate down beside my own.

“He did,” said Casien. “I told him.”

Jon looked surprised—then immediately hurt. He frowned and looked back down at his food, his expression hardening a little.

“…I’m sorry,” I said, for I wasn’t sure what else to say. I hadn’t _wanted_ to hurt him, but it hadn’t exactly been my choice.

“You couldn’t know, Jon,” said Casien. “No one here could. Everyone needed to be surprised, or else we would be accused of favoritism.”

“But you told _Laurie_?”

“Yes. Because he’s with Falk, and we had to tell Falk. I needed to tell someone, and if anyone found out that Laurie already knew, it wouldn’t matter as much. People would just assume that Falk told him.” He was quiet for a moment, then: “And now you should apologize to Laurie for what you just said.”

Jon blinked, looking from Casien to me.

Then he blushed—deeply.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I’m all talk—acting like I’m better than everyone else while pretending to think otherwise.”

“No…” I said, for I knew he really wasn’t like that, that he didn’t see me or Karita as lesser just because he was a nobleman and we weren’t.

“Don’t worry,” said Casien. “I’ll just attribute any bad behavior on your part as an indicator of how much you miss Olfina.” He paused. “You _are_ going back after this, aren’t you? Trust me, being away from your spouse for more than a year isn’t exactly something I would recommend.”

“Gods, yes,” said Jon, his shoulders sagging a little. “Honestly? The last few days have been hell. Seeing you all with your significant others, cavorting about…”

Casien snorted.

“Sorry,” he said, “I was just trying to picture Ulfric cavorting…. Oh, heads up. Harrald’s coming over.”

Sure enough, Harrald Law-Giver was making his way determinedly towards us. I thought someone was finally going to object to my presence, but he wasn’t looking at me. He had eyes only for Jon.

“What are you playing at, Jon Battle-Born?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he frowned down at Jon.

I thought Jon would express his confusion, for I certainly hadn’t any idea what he was talking about.

But he didn’t.

“Trust me, Harrald,” said Jon, “I get the appeal of a clandestine relationship. The secret meeting places, the smiles across the room when you know you’re the only two who know… but the secret always comes out eventually.” Here he gave Casien a look. “And when it does, it’s so much better. _Believe_ me.”

“Our situation is completely different from yours,” Harrald snapped. “Besides, what Lord Casien did was clever politicking, and it saved your city from having that pompous ass for a jarl.”

“That pompous ass was my wife’s uncle,” said Jon, narrowing his eyes. “And I hazard Casien didn’t do what he did for political reasons. Not everyone is as cold-hearted as you.”

“Jon,” said Casien, “don’t. It’s all right. And I owe Harrald a lot for what he did for me and… a certain person.” He smiled a little when Harrald looked down at him. “I think it’s sweet that you fell for her that day. Like something from a novel.”

“I didn’t,” said Harrald, coloring slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I happened to be in Solitude last year on business for my mother. We happened to meet, and…”

“Just marry her already,” said Jon. “We all know your mother isn’t going to retaliate by making that idiot brother of yours her heir.”

Harrald snorted but didn’t really say anything in response. And that’s when I realized— _Elisif_. They had to be talking about Elisif. Karita had mentioned some time ago the rumors that Harrald and the former high queen were secretly seeing one another, but Jon hadn’t believed her. Apparently, he’d acquired evidence to the contrary—the fact that Casien _also_ knew was probably the least surprising thing I’d learned all morning.

I wondered what Falk thought of their relationship, especially since it sounded like Harrald’s mother wasn’t likely to approve.

“So, this is the elf everyone’s been talking about,” said Harrald, startling to me. “Falk certainly has… range.”

“His name is Laurie,” said Jon, his voice hardening again. “And just what in Oblivion is that supposed to mean?”

“Laurie, do you know where the nearest washroom is?” asked Casien

I started, and at first didn’t know what to say. I glanced up at Harrald, who was furrowing his brow at me as though there might actually be something wrong with me. I swallowed, and didn’t chance an answer—only nodding, _yes_.

“Great!” said Casien, rising out of his chair. “I’m about to burst.”

He began to make his way towards the double doors, glancing meaningfully behind his shoulder at me as he did. I took a quick breath, grabbed my notebook and pen, murmured an apology to Jon—or rather, to the table, though I’m sure he heard me anyway—and stood up to follow him.

He was waiting for me, standing in the hallway just outside the meeting room. When I came towards him, he gave me a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. I don’t actually have to go. You just looked like you needed an out.”

I stared at him, dismayed. Were my anxieties and insecurities really that obvious? That’s when I realized I hadn’t said a word the entire time, that they’d all three been talking over and around me as if I hadn’t even been there. I _always_ froze up around people I didn’t know, so Harrald’s sudden inclusion hadn’t helped. But then the way he’d suddenly addressed me, putting me on the spot—and what he’d said about Falk—!!

“It’s all right,” said Casien, laying his hand on my arm, and that’s when I also realized my mouth was open, and I’d been trying to explain myself—to no effect, as usual. “Harrald isn’t a bad person, but he’s a little distant. Proud, I guess. He was probably just trying to deflect the conversation away from himself.”

I nodded and looked down, hugging my notebook to my chest. I just felt so… stupid. And I guess that would never really change.

“If it helps,” he continued, “I saw Falk when he was with Bryling. And I can tell you that the two of you definitely _do_ have something in common.” When I lifted my eyes to meet his again, he smiled. “He loved her, Laurie. And from what I saw the other night—he’s in love with you, too.”

The sound of the doors to the meeting room opening and closing again made us both turn. The person who’d exited paused and looked at us, a suddenly awkward expression on his face.

“On second thought,” said Casien, his lips twitching. “I think I may have to go after all. Where was that washroom again?”

I started and pointed—I didn’t even bother trying to give verbal instructions—and he thanked me and flashed me a mischievous little smile before turning and leaving.

“I was hoping I might catch you,” said Falk, finally coming forward.

I turned to face him fully, allowing myself to drink in his presence. The buttons on his green coat were gold, and his tunic beneath it was a soft beige with intricate, gold stitching tracing patterns over the material. There were no windows in the hallway, so his eyes were more brown than amber, and his lips…

I swallowed, and forced myself to drag my gaze back up to his.

“…Sorry,” I managed. “I was just…”

“No!” he said, reaching to quickly take my free hand in both of his. “You don’t need to apologize. I understand how uncomfortable you must feel. I only wish I could leave _with_ you.”

His words brought sudden heat to my cheeks, even though I knew he didn’t intend them to mean the way they sounded. He seemed to realize, pausing and blinking as a blush crept slowly up through his beard.

“That is… well…” But then he actually laughed, the sound soft and sheepish. “I suppose I could try to rephrase that, but I confess it’s true as is.”

I felt my own blush deepen, and my heart beat painfully in my chest. My hand felt hot in his, but… I can’t say that I was unhappy, or that I wished to be anywhere other than where I was right now.

He lowered his eyes again for a moment, his thumbs rubbing absently over the tops of my knuckles.

“I came here to ask you something. You see... I’ve known about King Alain and Queen Elora for some time now. It was necessary, so that I might be able to make preparations for their stay here, and for the moot, of course. But… there’s also to be a gathering, once they arrive.”

“…A gathering?” I repeated, for I wasn’t sure what else to say. I suppose I could have admitted to also knowing about the king and queen, but didn’t.

“Yes. A sort of banquet, but I believe there’s to be dancing as well. A blending of cultures—Breton and Nord. If the timing’s right, it will coincide with our annual Second Planting celebrations. All of the jarls and their people are invited, of course, along with many of the great families here in Solitude. I suppose I was wondering if… you might like to come, as well.”

I blinked at him. My brain felt like it was slowly spinning in my head, as if it couldn’t quite comprehend what it had just heard.

“…Me!” I finally managed, shaking my head a little. “But I’m…”

“Laurie, I mean to ask you to come as my guest.” He pulled one hand from mine, but only so he could reach up, seemingly hesitant, to cup it gently around my cheek. “As my date.”

I felt faint. I lay my free hand (still partially clutching my notebook) absently over my heart and stared blankly at him. It was a moment before I realized his expression had turned from hopeful to concerned.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, his hand now dropping to my shoulder as though to steady me.

I shook my head, which didn’t exactly help with the way the room was spinning, and it was a moment before I could speak.

“…No,” I finally said. “I’m… fine.”

“Then will you come?” he prompted, tilting his head slightly, his expression warm again.

“…Yes,” I said, because that was all I could really manage for now.

His smile returned, and just as he had last night, he quickly brought the hand he was still holding to his lips and kissed it. But then he surprised me by releasing it so he could cup my face in both his hands now, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.

“Divines,” he murmured. “I would kiss you, Laurie, and believe me when I say that I long to. Yet I suspect you should like our first kiss to _not_ be in a hallway a few feet away from a room full of squabbling heads of state.”

I wanted desperately to tell him that I didn’t mind, that I was seconds away from throwing myself fully into his embrace. I wanted to feel his arms wrap around me, to press my nose into the curve of his neck and breathe him in. But, naturally, all I was able to do was stand there like an idiot and stare at him, as if I could communicate my desires through blinking eyes and half-parted lips.

He laughed then leaned forward, but he only kissed my cheek as he had once before, nuzzling his own against mine as he did. Then he shifted, his lips lingering by my ear.

“I like your hair,” he said, his breath tickling my skin.

He gave my ponytail a light, playful tug before finally pulling back and straightening.

“Thank you,” I said breathlessly. “…Jon said that you would.”

His eyes widened at that, then he finally released me, stepping back so he could laugh. With his head thrown back, his cheeks flushed, his broad chest and shoulders shaking under his finely tailored clothes… it was a beautiful sight.

“Ah, Jon…” He paused to wipe at his eyes, still chuckling. “I believe without him and Soren, I’d still be sitting alone in my office every day, calling myself a fool for believing I could ever have a chance with you.” He gave me a fond smile. “And now I’ve embarrassed you, for you haven’t a clue how wonderful you are. How you made my heart sink when I thought learning how old I was had made you completely reconsider me!”

“…No!” I said, for I couldn’t stand him thinking that I could hold something like that against him. “No, I… I like _everything_ about you. I mean—I like you, just as you are,” I added quickly, as if that would somehow erase the horrifically embarrassing thing I’d just let slip.

He beamed at me, his own cheeks rosy now, and I think we really would have stood there gazing at one another like fools—if something hadn’t caused him to start and glance just past my shoulder.

“Sorry,” I heard Casien say, and I turned quickly to stare at him, my heart thumping in my chest.

“I was trying to be quiet, and you two were so caught up in each other I thought I might actually make it. But… well, if I’m gone too long, Ulfric will start to worry, and he’s on edge enough as it is, so…”

“Of course,” said Falk, still smiling, even though he had to know _why_ Ulfric Stormcloak was allegedly on edge. “I’m the one who should apologize. Would it upset your husband too much if you and I both returned at the same time?”

Casien rolled his eyes.

“Please. I already told him all about you two.”

“Does he really get jealous?” I asked, doing my best to ignore the way his words made my cheeks flare hot again.

I couldn’t imagine the high king could ever doubt his husband’s devotion, but I supposed a jealous heart would always be just that.

“Not really. Well—yes and no. He knows he’s stuck with me, but that doesn’t mean he likes it when he _imagines_ someone is flirting with me.”

Falk blinked.

“Is this a trait shared among elves?” he asked, clearly feigning confusion. “To be totally unaware of one’s own beauty?”

I reacted without thinking, _tsk_ ing under my breath and smacking him lightly on the arm. He laughed, and so did Casien, albeit behind his hand, his own cheeks now a dusty pink.

“Well, good-bye, until tomorrow at least,” he continued, his warm gaze turned towards me again. “I wish I could promise more than a chance encounter here or there, but I’m afraid I can’t, at least not for now. But… I’ll see you at Second Planting, I hope?”

I smiled and nodded again, clutching my notebook absently to my chest.

“Until tomorrow,” I said.

I waved to them both, Casien waving back, then turned to make my way back to my room—I needed to be alone, to catch my breath, and try not to think how very close I’d just come to kissing the person I was unquestionably, quite desperately in love with.


	19. Chapter 19

The next few days were even busier than I had anticipated.

I spent my mornings working as Jon’s assistant at the moot, and they were very _long_ mornings. The situation involving the High Rock monarchs, and Ulfric’s belief in the inevitability of eventual war, were omnipresent topics, but they weren’t the only things the jarls discussed. Casien insisted that the moot also had a secondary purpose: fellowship and the sharing of ideas and cultures across holds. This was greeted with varying degrees of skepticism and amusement. Some holds, like Haafingar and the Hjaalmarch, or Eastmarch and Winterhold, were already on fairly friendly terms. But the vast distances between cities and villages in Skyrim—and, I was beginning to think, the dogmatic totalitarianism of the jarls—made free trade and cultural exchange prohibitive in many cases.

And so, tax laws were debated and struck down, borders were drawn and redrawn, and trade agreements were made and broken and remade again. Casien’s dream of fellowship and cultural exchange seemed just that—at least for now. I hoped his husband reassured him that his heart was in the right place. After all, so far as I could tell, the holds of Skyrim were already more in tune with one another than the isolationist provinces of High Rock.

Often lunch would not be served until one or two in the afternoon, after which the meeting would finally be adjourned for the day. For the jarls and their retainers, this hardly marked the end of their day; smaller meetings often took place during this time, and even social events—strolling through the gardens, meeting for tea or drinks in someone’s sitting room, going for a ride outside the city—were clearly politically motivated. Luckily, I wasn’t involved in any of this. I excused myself as soon as the meeting was adjourned, and even left before lunch was served—the first time I did this, I walked to the Skeever, but afterward I simply requested that all my lunches please continue to be delivered to my room. I told myself I was doing this because it freed up Jon (or even Casien) from having to babysit me.

But, of course, it also made it impossible for Falk to come and talk to me.

It wasn’t that I didn’t _want_ to talk to him. The exact opposite, really. I would sometimes even take the long way from my room to the library or the rose garden, with some childish hope of running into him. But it was different when all the most important people in the country were staring and listening and making note of our every move.

It made me think about what Casien had said, about being married to a jarl. And then I tried very hard _not_ to think about it, because it was utterly terrifying on so many levels.

Unfortunately, Falk’s prediction that we wouldn’t really have much time together before the gathering he’d mentioned proved to be true. I sometimes _would_ actually pass him in the hallway, but he was always busy talking to someone vastly more important than myself, and could only pause and spare a tired smile for me as I passed. Mostly, I had to rely on reports from Jon (who didn’t mind me pestering him in his apartment well after dinner) who informed me that the jarl was consistently very stressed, very tired, but very anxious to see me again. I half-suspected Jon of exaggerating the latter, but… I could also finally admit to myself that he probably wasn’t.

And that was something else I tried not to think about—Queen Elora, King Alain, and Prince Rininion were due to arrive any day, and Second Planting was around the corner as well. Falk had asked me to accompany him to the gathering he’d mentioned, and I’d said ‘yes’. For the first time, we would be publicly together. And people were going to notice the jarl of Haafingar Hold’s date. I couldn’t dwell on it for too long, or my hands would start to shake and my heart would beat painfully somewhere in the vicinity of my throat. Remembering my promise to Healer Errin, I reluctantly told her of my difficulties, and she altered the make-up of my tea sachets ever so slightly. She gave me a sort of root to chew on, too, and instructed me to always carry a little in my pocket. It wouldn’t taste very good, she warned, and would make me immediately sleepy, but during moments of intense stress, she claimed it would help to ‘take the edge off’.

“I feel obligated to inform you, Mr. Nailo,” she added, just as I was standing up to leave her office, “That the jarl came by and spoke to me about you.”

I blinked, my heart fluttering in my chest.

“…He did?”

“Aye, he did. It wasn’t long after you and I first became acquainted, after you’d fainted. He was understandably concerned.” She paused and cleared her throat. “I shall try to put this as delicately as possible. He wished to know if his… pursuit of you would in any way endanger your health. I assured him that this wouldn’t be the case, and I remain convinced of that fact.”

“…Oh,” I said, mostly because that was pretty much all I could think to say at the moment.

“He went to great pains to say that he wouldn’t normally pry into your affairs so brazenly, and I assured him that under normal circumstances, I was not inclined to provide information regarding the health of any of my patients without their express consent. But his concern was… understandable, and as he asked for no additional information, I saw no harm in reassuring him.”

When I could think of nothing to say to any of that, her lips twitched a little.

“Perhaps it would ease your mind to know that I’ve never seen him look quite so out of his element. I believe it took monumental effort on his part to admit his interest in you to me. He’s a good man, our jarl.” She gave me a wink. “I’d hold on to that one, if I were you.”

I blinked, for it had never occurred to me whether or not I _should_ ‘hold on’ to him. He was the jarl, after all! Surely this relationship proceeded at _his_ discretion—not mine.

“Don’t be silly,” said Karita, as we made our way later that day through one of the lesser frequented gardens. “Just because he’s a jarl doesn’t mean you don’t have any say-so in how things go.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, sighing. “I mean, I just… never thought that _he_ would have to worry about whether _I_ wanted _him_ or not.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised he stayed single for as long as he did. Imagine being a jarl and not being able to find anyone to date you!”

“…I’m sure there were plenty of people who wanted to date him,” I said, frowning a little, for I couldn’t help defending him—he was the kindest, gentlest man I’d ever met, and he was, well—incredibly handsome on top of it. Though I could admit that I hadn’t always thought so.

“Ah, well. I suppose he was too busy pining after that Lady Bryling of his, at least until he met you, anyway. This looks like a good spot!”

She paused before a little secluded patch of grass, flanked on both sides by tall, sturdy oaks. There was a stone bench nearby, but we opted to lay out the blanket Karita had brought especially so that we could sit down directly on the grass. We sat down and opened our respective lute cases, settling the instruments into our laps.

“What _I_ find more interesting is the fact that he went and asked the healer if it was all right to date you. It’s rather romantic, really.” She strummed her lute lightly, pausing to tweak one of the strings before glancing at me, her mouth curling into a playful little smirk. “You _do_ know what he was asking about, don’t you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes…”

“Sex,” she said, as if I hadn’t even answered. “He was asking about sex.”

“What part of ‘yes’ did you not get?” I asked, sighing and covering my suddenly hot cheeks with my palms. “And didn’t you promise _not_ to tease me about him anymore?”

“Oh, true. Drat.” She sighed, resettling the lute between her legs. “’The Maid’s Pretty Garden’?”

I gave her a look.

She grinned.

“Come on, Laurie; don’t destroy my dream of singing naughty limericks in the palace gardens!”

I snorted but obliged her by strumming the first few chords. Then, together, we launched into the song. It _was_ rather naughty—something about all the boys in the village wanting to pluck the flowers in the maid’s garden, but she was saving herself—er, her garden—for the strapping blacksmith—but it was bright and pretty and fun, too. Karita sang, her voice as clear and lovely as always, and when the boys’ or the blacksmith’s lyrics came up, she gave me a significant look. I sighed and smiled, but I sang, too—for the first time in weeks.

My voice wasn’t the strongest, and it was rusty at that. But I loved to sing. It was strange to think that if I had kept my nerve and played and sang at the college on that fateful day I might very well have become a student there. I never would have met Falk, never would have met Karita, and might not have become such good friends with Jon. I _certainly_ wouldn’t have been sitting in gardens of the Blue Palace, singing with my friend and playing my grandmother’s lute.

We played and sang for at least an hour, taking breaks in between to munch on strawberries, bananas, grapes, cold meats and cheeses, and to sip from the cheap bottle of wine Karita had brought. It was the best lunch, and the most fun, I’d had in a long time.

“Looks like we’re about to have an audieeence…” Karita said in a sing-song voice as she plucked idly at the strings of her lute.

I nearly choked on the strawberry I was chewing on, my heart fluttering in my chest and my face preemptively heating up. But it wasn’t the jarl making his slow way towards us. It wasn’t Jon, or Soren, or Casien, or anyone I actually knew, either. It was a group of people, three women and a man, all of them very finely dressed. There were, of course, always people wandering the gardens, for many nobles (or ‘thanes’ as they seemed to be called in Skyrim) lived very near the palace and often spent their mornings or afternoons here—doing what, I hadn’t a clue, as it wasn’t the sort of thing farm boys-turned-note-takers were privy to.

“Good afternoon,” said one of the women, smiling down at us as she and the others came to a stop. “We heard your beautiful playing and felt compelled to come and meet the artist himself.”

They were all a bit older than myself and Karita—closer to the jarl’s age. The first woman was dark-haired and brown-skinned, but the others all possessed typically fair Nord features. All three women were very elegant, and very beautiful. The man was a little bit older, and just as finely dressed. All were armed, as was the Nord way, for even the two women in long skirts had ornamental daggers strapped to their belts.

“We thought we might come and offer our compliments,” said the second woman.

“I hope we don’t disturb you,” said the third.

“…No,” I finally managed. “It’s fine…”

“Speak for yourself,” said Karita, huffing a little under her breath. When the women all looked at her, she tilted her head and flashed them a close-lipped smile.

“We certainly didn’t mean to offend your friend,” said the man.

“Not at all,” said the first woman, “We just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to finally introduce ourselves to you.”

“…to _me_?” I blurted out, blinking up at them all.

“Why, yes. We’ve all heard _about_ you, but very few have actually seen you, let alone spoken to you.”

“You’re quite an enigma, young man,” said the man, smiling. “Do you know, I thought my daughter might do for the jarl after Bryling was out of the picture, but they never seemed to hit it off. Perhaps what he was after all along was… well, I suppose we might call it _a change of scenery_?”

The women all laughed, but I only stared at them and looked questioningly at Karita.

But Karita wasn’t looking at me. She was still glaring up at the nobles.

“Listen here, you pompous old goat,” she said. “If you and your lady friends came all the way over here just to rattle your jewels at Laurie and insult him to his face, well, you can march right back to where you came from. He’s not interested in playing whatever game you’re playing, and I’ve half a mind to make him tell that new boyfriend of his that he should banish the lot of you!”

The four nobles abruptly stopped laughing, their eyes widening as they stared down at Karita and received her dressing down. Meanwhile, I felt as though I were slowly sinking in on myself, and that perhaps if I were lucky, the ground beneath me might literally swallow me whole.

“Goodness…!” the man finally said, but then he seemed incapable of saying anything further.

“What a… what a terrifyingly _rude_ young woman you are!” said one of the women, and that set them all off, buzzing and chirping at one another, huffing and shooting dismissive glances down at Karita and sometimes even at _me_ —as if they were all reassessing whether it was worth getting to know me.

The sound of a throat clearing itself loudly startled us all; the angry nobles all turned and parted slightly to reveal, of all people, Soren, an amused look on his handsome face.

“If you would excuse us, my lord, my ladies,” he said, bowing slightly to the nobles. “I require a moment of Laurie’s time.” His lips twitched. “Jarl’s business, I’m afraid.”

“Of course,” said one of the women, though not before she got in one more glare in Karita’s general direction.

We watched them go, then Soren turned again to smirk down at the two of us.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to that sort of thing,” he said. “Though I _might_ recommend against alienating _every_ person of significance. I’m afraid the hold can’t run on good manners and good intentions alone, much as we’d all love it to.”

Karita groaned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I couldn’t stand the way they were treating Laurie! Simpering over him one second, then insulting him the next!”

“Unfortunately, it rather comes with the territory. Many of them are just learning about Laurie’s existence. It’s going to ruffle a few feathers, but more than anything, there’ll be a clamoring for influence.” He arched a brow at Karita. “Even his friends might find themselves courted, one way or another.”

She snorted. “They can try.”

“It’ll be much worse after the banquet, as well.” He smiled at me next. “Which brings me to why I’m here. Lord Jon _may_ have let a mutual acquaintance of ours know that you have been, shall we say, previously _concerned_ about the state of your wardrobe. It was also brought to the attention of this mutual acquaintance, perhaps by me, that this concern is likely to increase exponentially before the banquet.”

I blinked, momentarily unable to follow a word of what he was saying.

“Your clothes, Lor,” said Karita, rolling her eyes and giving me a playful nudge with her elbow. “Remember how you ran to Jon before your date?”

“…Oh,” I said. Then I frowned. “Jon _told_ you about that?!”

“He _is_ fond of a good story,” said Soren, smiling. “Not at all surprising, considering his educational pursuits. Now, about the banquet…”

“…I still won’t have anything to wear!” I said, my hand reflexively squeezing the neck of my lute as the realization hit me. My shoulders slumped again, as there was really only one inevitable solution. “I’ll have to tell him I can’t go….”

This was both good and bad, for it meant I wouldn’t have to face those terrible nobles again, or at least not anytime soon. I wouldn’t have to put myself out there, so to speak, and walk into a large room filled with important people and have them all turn to look at me and judge me. But that also meant disappointing Falk—I could only imagine the look on his face when I told him that I wasn’t going to be able to attend.

“Well, I guess Jon’s not the only one with a penchant for the dramatic,” said Karita, snorting.

Soren smiled, then seemed to cough to hide a laugh.

“Yes… well, perhaps before retroactively declining the invitation, you might consider returning to your room?”

I looked back up at him, confused.

“…My room?”

“What’s in his room?” asked Karita, her eyes widening with excitement. “Did the jarl send him something?”

Soren’s lips twitched. “Perhaps he did.”

“Divines!” She scrambled to her feet. “Laurie, get up, aren’t you listening? Your boyfriend sent you a present! Oh Dibella, it’s new clothes, isn’t it?! An outfit fit for a date with a jarl!”

Soren coughed again, but this time I wasn’t sure which of us he was trying not to laugh at.

“One moment, if you don’t mind,” he said, even as Karita was hurriedly packing away the food. “Almost as soon as the deed was done, he seemed to arrive at an entirely different conclusion. Said he’d reconsidered, that he’d begun to wonder if such a gift weren’t too… presumptuous. Now, before he could order someone to remove everything, I sent him off to his next meeting, and, here we are.” He smiled. “Which is why I suggest you hurry to your room as quickly as possible.”

And so we did, Karita holding the basket of food in one hand and my hand in the other, as she practically pulled me back in the direction of the palace. I was glad we didn’t run into anymore scheming nobles, though I did notice that all of the servants we passed spared me a smile. It was something I’d been noticing more and more, and I supposed it meant they all recognized me now.

“It’s only an outfit,” I said, rolling my eyes as Karita now hurried me down the hallway to my room. “Why are you so excited?”

“Because it’s a _present_!” she said. “From your great love! I thought you wrote romance novels; isn’t this _just_ the sort of thing the prince would do for Francesca?”

He would, actually, and it gave me an idea for how he might try to finally win her over—only she would be insulted by the gift. Hadn’t Soren said something about feeling presumptuous? Perhaps Francesca would see it that way; how dare he assume she was in need of a new gown! Did he think he could buy her affections with silk and jewels?

“Get your head out of the clouds and unlock the door!”

I started and filed the scene away for later before reaching for the key in my pocket and opening the door…

…And then just stood there and stared at the piles and piles of clothing which had been carefully draped over my bed.

“Divines…” breathed Karita.

She was the first to walk forward, setting her lute and the basket down before gently running the tips of her fingers over the array of soft fabrics—silk, linen, cotton, all in shades of red and yellow and gold, green and silver, brown and blue. She reached for a little folded note and picked it up, glancing at whatever was written on the front before smiling a little and handing it to me.

‘ _Laurie_ ’ it said, in an unfamiliar hand, though I supposed I could guess whose hand it was. I opened it.

_Please accept this small gift. I was told that the tailor had your measurements, so I took the liberty of ordering you a few items. I hope they’re to your liking. It is, without a doubt, a silly gift, and I hope you can forgive me for being my usual foolish self._

_Falk_

I felt the smile come unbidden to my face and glanced at Karita before hastily refolding the note.

“What did he say?” she asked.

I shook my head, trying my hardest to bite back my smile.

She sighed. “You two really are the cutest—you know that, don’t you? It’s really unfair that I haven’t met him yet.”

“He barely has time to see _me_ ,” I reminded her with a little smile.

I moved towards the bed, picking up first one tunic, then another. They were so lovely—it felt almost wrong to put something so fine on my body. Such luxury seemed fit only for a prince or a king.

“True,” I heard Karita say. “But I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time together after this moot ends. What’s next, I wonder? A room upgrade? He can’t allow you to stay in this little cave for… oh…!”

I looked over my shoulder at her sudden exclamation, then whirled around to see who or what she was staring at.

It was the jarl—standing in the open doorway of my room and looking as though he’d taken a wrong turn and only just realized it.

“Good afternoon,” he finally managed to say.

“Afternoon,” said Karita breathlessly.

“I must apologize—” He swallowed and seemed to straighten, hands clasping behind his back. “That is, I was told you weren’t yet in.”

“…We’ve only just returned,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as breathless as Karita had a second ago.

“I see…” He trailed off, his gaze lingering on me the way it often did. Then he seemed to start and looked away again, nodding at the new clothes on my bed. “You’ve… received my gift.”

I smiled and nodded. He was, as always, beautiful to look at… his hair and beard bright red and neatly trimmed, his eyes and freckles lit by the sun streaming in through my window. It was very hard to resist the urge to walk up to him and wrap my arms around him, to feel his solid warmth pressing against my own body. Even better—to cup my hand around his cheek, breathe him in, and press my lips against his.

“I hope you don’t find it all too presumptuous,” he said, rocking back on his heels slightly. “I ought to have spoken to you about it first, or—that is, at the time I thought it might please you—ease some of your concerns, I mean, not that I—” He paused, closing his eyes briefly and taking another quick breath before opening them again and gazing at me. “You are… not offended?”

“No,” I said, trying not to laugh. “No, I’m…” I looked down at the two pieces of beautiful clothing still in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over the soft fabrics. “I’m grateful. They’re all so beautiful.”

“They’re meant to suit you,” he said, then immediately colored. I heard a soft snort from behind me, but didn’t take my eyes off him. “They’re a fusion of Altmer, Breton, and Nord tailoring. Or at least that’s what the tailor promised me.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about such things myself.”

“I know a little,” I said, though I’m not sure why. “…For writing purposes. And my mother sews all our clothing.”

He smiled at me, some of his awkwardness seeming to melt away.

“She would disapprove of my replacements, then,” he said.

I shook my head.

“I don’t think so. Not if—not if they came from you.”

His expression softened even more, and he gazed at me for a long time. My heart beat steadily in my chest, and I felt that same longing rising up within me. I wondered if he felt something similar—if he ever thought of kissing me, of being with me.

He gave a little start, his eyes shifting briefly towards Karita before seeming to force another smile to his face.

“Well, as usual, I’m afraid I have somewhere I must be. I was just…” He pressed his lips together, clearing his throat. “Well. In any case.”

He sketched a short bow and turned to go.

“Oh!” he said, turning to face me again. “I’m off to the harbor, actually. The king and queen have been sighted and are due to arrive soon. Which is to say—the banquet will likely be held very soon, tomorrow, perhaps, but more likely the following evening, so as to coincide with our Second Planting festivities. I’ll try to send Soren to escort you. I should like to escort you myself, but—

“It’s all right,” I interrupted, smiling, for I could see it distressed him. I bit my lip. “I’ll see you soon?”

He smiled back. “Yes. Very soon.”

I closed the door quietly behind him once he left, and turned around—only for Karita to squeal and run forward, grabbing both my hands in hers (though I still held the two handsome tunics I’d picked up earlier).

“That was _ADORABLE_!!” she cried, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. “He was coming here to take it all back; he must have been! Oh, Divines, that jarl of yours is the most _ridiculous_ , _besotted_ idiot I’ve ever _seen_!”

“Technically, he’s _your_ jarl, not mine,” I said, smiling and trying not to blush at the word ‘besotted.’

“Nice try, but he didn’t just leave _me_ an entire new wardrobe!”

That night, as I sat sorting through all my new things, I thought of Francesca again—how angry she would be by what she’d consider to be little more than a display of hubris. It was the sort of thing that would make for a good scene in a story—her cheeks flushed with annoyance, yet her heart still beating fast nonetheless, uncertainty brewing within her. He had, after all, done this for _her_. Yes, it was ostentatious, and over-the-top, and what was she to say to anyone who noticed all her new gowns? But he had done it for her…

But I wasn’t Francesca, and my new lover wasn’t a prince—he was a jarl, a king, yes, but he was a man, too. He was a man who’d lost his own great love a little over a year ago and had no doubt thought to spend the rest of his life bereft of companionship. But then he’d met me.

In a story, sending the person you liked so many lovely new things was the perfect set-up for conflict of some sort—the chance to write a passionate encounter, or a hot disagreement, or a solitary moment of reflection.

In reality, I saw it, and made myself acknowledge it, for what it was: a declaration of love.

I didn’t try anything on. It felt silly to do so—maybe because it would’ve been the first thing Francesca would’ve done. Instead, I finished folding it all and took a nice, long bath, sipping my tea and reading one of the books Casien had encouraged me to take back with me from the library. Afterward, I opened the window, for it was a nice, cool night, thinking that I might get a few story notes down before preparing for bed—

—When, out of nowhere, a strange Bosmer dropped down onto the windowsill beside me.

“Good evening,” he said, and it’s probably a very good thing I’d just had my tea, because instead of fainting I merely proceeded to have a mild panic attack.

//

_The version of the Blue Palace described in this story is, of course, quite different from the one in the game -- I can't ever seem to leave well enough alone, can I? Laurie and Falk's Blue Palace is almost Grecian in a sense, with its many inner courtyards and overhanging outdoor walkways. It's surrounded on all sides by beautiful gardens (at least where it's not surrounded by the imposing cliffside). I've pasted a few inspirational images below for your viewing pleasure:_

  
_The rose garden_

__ _  
One of the outer gardens, where Laurie and Karita are picnicking in this chapter._

_  
The wall of the rooftop garden may look something like this._

__  
Rooftop make-out couch? 👀


	20. Chapter 20

Casien sighed as he sat down beside me and reached for the pot of boiling water over the fire.

“What is it with you and doors?” he muttered.

Prince Rininion of Farrun—or “Rin” as he was apparently called—didn’t answer, but simply smiled at me from where he sat cross-legged on my bed.

“…I’m fine,” I said, though the fact that the words came out in a breathy whisper probably belied the truth. “I just…”

“You’re not fine,” said Casien. “Take it from me, someone who always claims he’s fine but is lying at least fifty percent of the time. Here—did I make it right?”

I took the steaming mug of tea from him and took a sip, then nodded at him over the rim.

“…I was just startled,” I managed, resting my free hand absently over my heart. “I’m not in any danger.”

“And whose fault is _that_?” asked Casien, glaring at the figure on the bed.

Rin arched an eyebrow.

“That he’s not in any danger? Probably one of the Divines.”

“You _know_ what I mean.”

“…Please don’t argue on my behalf,” I pleaded.

It really was the last thing I needed right now. Rin’s entrance had startled me, but no lasting harm had been done, and my condition was hardly his fault. Casien had arrived only a moment later, and, to his credit, Rin _had_ seemed very concerned for me—not surprising, I suppose, considering how I must have appeared—but Casien had been very upset with him nonetheless. And the two were supposed to be friends! I didn’t fancy becoming the reason for a falling out between two princes from different realms. I was already in love with a Skyrim king, and that was about as politically involved as I ever planned to get.

“Fine,” Casien finally agreed. “But only if Rin promises to be more careful in the future. _No_ startling Laurie. All right?”

Rin straightened and placed his own hand over his heart.

“By my gods and yours, I promise to be more careful around pretty elves in fancy palaces.”

“…Not you, too,” I sighed, resting the back of my hand against my suddenly warm cheek.

“You _are_ pretty,” said Casien, “but there are nicer ways of acknowledging it.”

He shot yet another dirty look at Rin, who beamed and held up his hand, displaying a plain gold band around one finger.

“Don’t worry—

“You’re married,” said Casien, rolling his eyes. “We know.”

I recalled Casien saying once that Rin was ‘like him,’ in that he was also a common-born elf married to a human king. The two _were_ friends, yet Casien had also nevertheless referred to Rin as _different_ —and I was beginning to see why. I didn’t think it was a common thing among nobility, for instance, to enter the room of a stranger through a window. Yet nothing Casien said seemed to upset Rin, and it was clear to me at least that Rin was fond of him. Then again, I couldn’t really imagine anyone _not_ being immediately fond of Casien Yedlin. It seemed a prerequisite for getting to know him.

“Maybe we should talk about the letter,” I suggested, after I’d had a few more sips of tea.

“I think that would probably be a good idea,” agreed Rin. He smiled at me, but then shifted his gaze to Casien. “No offense—but should he be here?”

“It’s his room,” said Casien. “And I trust him.”

“I can leave,” I said, for it wasn’t as if I were _happy_ about my room being used as a secret meeting place between heads of state. “I don’t mind.”

“It isn’t really a matter of trust,” said Rin. “More like you may not want to know what I’m about to tell you.”

Casien looked at me, then, and frowned.

“I hate to say it,” he said, “But being involved in stuff like this… well, it sort of comes with the territory.” He shrugged one, small shoulder, as if to say it were out of his hands. “It’s up to you, Laurie.”

I sighed. I knew exactly what he meant by ‘comes with the territory’—and I hadn’t even told him—or anyone else, for that matter—that Falk had actually referenced marriage the other night, when we had inadvertently ambushed him on the rooftop garden. But I don’t think I was being ridiculous for resenting the assumption that I might one day marry a man I hadn’t even kissed yet.

And if I sometimes lay awake at night, picturing our wedding day—or wedding _night_ —well, that was between me and Mara.

“Fine,” I finally said. “I’ll stay. But I don’t want to be involved in any schemes. And anything we learn, we tell Jon.”

Rin frowned. “Who’s Jon?”

“The husband of one of the southern jarls,” said Casien. “He’s here at the palace, and he’s one of Laurie’s good friends—and mine.” He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. “All right. But only if it doesn’t put him in any danger. Deal?”

I nodded back. “Deal.”

Casien looked up at Rin next, his expression expectant.

“I guess I should start from the beginning,” said Rin. “You should probably know that this has all caused a sort of… well, let’s just say Allie and I aren’t really speaking to each other.”

“Oh,” said Casien, his expression faltering. “I—don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

Rin shrugged.

“He’s lucky I agreed to come along at all. But I made promises when I agreed to marry him, and I’m not about to go back on them.”

“And you love him,” said Casien, frowning. “Right?”

He smiled.

“I suppose I do. In any case, it all started when I returned home last year. He wanted to know why I’d been gone for so long, if I’d been in any danger—he knew about the Thalmor who were killed just outside the city, and then heard about the battle outside Jehanna City, too.”

“He was worried about you,” said Casien.

“I don’t normally disappear for that long. A few days at most. So I was expecting him to be upset. But then I… well, I guess I felt he deserved to know what had really happened.”

“So you _did_ tell him.” Casien frowned. “I take it he knows everything, then?”

“Everything.” He nodded at me. “Does he know?”

As I hadn’t a clue what they were talking about, I wasn’t surprised when Casien shook his head. But before he could open his mouth, I set my mug down and stood up.

“It’s fine,” I said, “I’ll go. I obviously shouldn’t be a part of this.”

“Laurie, no,” pleaded Casien—he even surprised me by reaching up and taking my hand, tugging downward. “Really, I _want_ you to know. And I want Falk to know, too. It’s high time he did, if he doesn’t already. And I know Ulfric would agree with me.”

This did little to convince me, for he was clearly implying that Falk and I were… well, that we were as much a package deal as he and Ulfric, or Rin and King Alain were. But we weren’t—no matter how much he liked me, or how much I liked _him_.

Not surprisingly, Casien seemed to understand my reluctance.

“You aren’t married, or even engaged. I understand. But you’re together, and I know you both mean a lot to one another.” He sighed. “Look, I’m not telling you you have to tell him anything. I’m just saying—if you want to, you can. So if you’re worried about knowing too much, or about having to keep something important from someone you care about, you don’t.”

There was a part of me that wanted to tell him ‘NO’—no more excuses, no more pleading, just NO. I was not a politician, nor was I married to one. My relationship was personal, even if the person I was in love with lived a very public life. But me? I was a ‘farm boy’ from a little village in Farrun; I was a writer and a musician and a note-taker for a friend. I didn’t wish to become involved in any of this.

Except I also wasn’t stupid—nor was I heartless. I didn’t want to become involved, yet here I was. And Casien—well, it was becoming clear to me that he just didn’t want to have to deal with all of this on his own. Yes, he had Rin. But Rin was—well, Rin. I was starting to see that now.

And, in any case, I’d already come to the conclusion that it was impossible to ever really say ‘no’ to Casien Yedlin—whatever my personal scruples.

“It should be a crime to have eyes as big as yours,” I muttered as I finally sat down.

Rin laughed, and Casien just blinked at me, confused.

“I think that’s your cue to tell him everything,” said Rin. “Before he changes his mind.”

And so he did. For nearly half an hour, Casien spun a wild tale of a king who’d been abducted; a ragtag group of rescuers that included his husband and his oldest friend; and their harrowing trek through northern Farrun, the Druadach mountains, and northwestern Skyrim. That the ‘king’ was actually Ulfric Stormcloak, and Casien his rescuer, came as no surprise, considering the storyteller, but that didn’t make the tale itself any less shocking.

This was also how he and Rin had met. Rin had tracked them for some time before revealing himself, and had played a sizable role in their ability to elude the Thalmor. However, he’d evidently finally returned to Farrun just before the group entered the mountains, and so the both of us heard for the first time the story of how Casien, his husband, and their friends had fought off Falmer, Dwemer machinery, and a top Thalmor agent and his goons.

“That’s… incredible…” I finally said, shaking my head with disbelief. “I guess I can see why you weren’t afraid to walk through the city without protection…”

“Oh,” said Casien, “I’ve never really been afraid of going anywhere. Though I guess sometimes I ought to have been…”

“I didn’t even know the Falmer still existed,” said Rin, looking surprisingly pale.

“They don’t—not really.” Casien shuddered visibly. “They were truly awful. Strange and massive and blind—so strong, I could barely hold them off with my ward.”

“We might want to let Queen Elora know about them. Considering they’re apparently right on her border.”

“I don’t know how we’d do that, though, without admitting how we know.”

“True enough.” Rin gave a quiet little sigh, leaning back on the heels of his hands now. “Well, you’ll be relieved to know that Allie didn’t think any less of your king when he learned what had happened. He hates the Thalmor every bit as much as you all do here. If anything, he felt sorry for High King Ulfric, and what he was made to go through.”

“I wish I could say that Ulfric would appreciate the pity of another king…” said Casien, biting his lip.

“Don’t worry; he’ll never hear it from me, and I’ve told Allie how proud he is—not that it isn’t already assumed that the great leader of the Stormcloak rebellion is a man of great pride. Trust me, Farrun doesn’t want to make an enemy of Ulfric Stormcloak, let alone all of Skyrim. That’s why we’re here.”

“Then what? You wanted to warn me about something—unless I was reading too much into your letter.”

Rin grinned, the expression charmingly lopsided—I’d never met the king of Farrun, but in that little moment, from that smile alone, I could imagine why he might be quite smitten with the prince.

“Oh, don’t worry. You definitely weren’t reading too much into it. I knew I could count on your cleverness. Plus I liked how that Galmar wrote you a secret letter based on the love poetry your king had given you, and thought I’d try my hand at doing something similar.”

“Yes, it was well done,” said Casien, rolling his eyes. “Now just tell us what it’s about!”

To my surprise, Rin’s amusement seemed to fade, and his expression grew… not necessarily serious, but almost… _ashamed_.

“When we received your invitation to come to Solitude, Allie was surprised. I wasn’t. I’d met you both, and I’d gotten a feel for how you both work. The moot would have been your idea, I surmised, and you’d have convinced that husband of yours it was a good one. But he’d only agree if he could see some political gain in it—which was where _we_ must have come in.

“Still, I trusted you, and him—but Allie didn’t. And I don’t blame him for it, for he didn’t know you the way I did. But Farrun has been politically isolated for the last two hundred years. Allie was the first king to reach out to Jehanna in a long time, and many in his court disagreed with him for it, though it’s proven to be a profitable alliance.”

He shook his head. “But Skyrim? Why should he trust Skyrim? Why should he trust a nation of brutes who hate magic and elves and slaughtered their way to freedom from the Empire?”

“The history of High Rock isn’t exactly any better,” said Casien, clearly rankled by this description of his adopted homeland.

“Oh, believe me, Farrun is just as distrustful of the southern provinces. In fact, maybe even more so than usual, since there are rumors that an alliance with the Empire may be forthcoming.

“But more than anything, Allie wanted to make it plain to Ulfric that we would be taking a great risk in allying ourselves with you. To break away from the rest of High Rock, and potentially make enemies of both the Empire and the Dominion in one fell swoop—well, your letters were full of pretty words about coming to our aid should we ever need it, but Allie needed to be sure. He needed to be sure that Skyrim—especially Ulfric—understood how precarious our position was.”

Rin was silent for a moment, and for once, Casien didn’t chastise him or pressure him to go on. Instead, he exchanged a look with me—and I couldn’t help but share his anxious feelings, even as little of the matter as I understood.

“So,” Rin continued slowly, “he apparently decided he should manufacture that risk.”

“Manufacture it,” breathed Casien. “How?”

“I don’t think I was supposed to know about it, but honestly, he’s an idiot for thinking he could keep something like that from me.” He paused, closed his eyes, and took a quick, deep breath. “Allie arranged for a kidnapping. The victim wasn’t to be harmed—it was only meant to show that our mutual enemies were serious. It was to occur here, at the moot. A ransom would be asked for, and presumably paid. The kidnappers would claim to work for either the Empire or the Dominion. It didn’t really matter. So long as it was made clear to your king that our mutual enemies were not to be trifled with.”

“…Who was to be kidnapped?” asked Casien, but from the high, thin note of his voice, I think he knew.

“You,” said Rin.

The silence that fell over the room was deafening. To me, it sounded like some poorly strung up plot from a novel. I could smell plot holes all over the plan, but maybe that was only because I could never help imagining how I could have written it better. But if King Alain had already known about High King Ulfric being kidnapped, why would he think kidnapping Casien would ‘prove’ to them both that the Empire and Dominion were both threat? Would he not already be under the assumption that they must be perfectly aware of such a threat? And why would a Dominion or Imperial stooge even ask for a ransom in the first place? Even beyond all that: how could Alain have been sure the kidnappers—essentially, mercenaries—would have held up their end of the bargain?

“I was, as you can imagine, livid,” said Rin, his expression belying the seeming calm in his voice. “I told him that if he went through with this, he could consider our marriage…” He paused. “I didn’t say that I would leave him. But I did say that I couldn’t love him. That our marriage would be a sham. And he’d have to live with that.”

“…And he couldn’t,” I realized, clearly surprising the other two, for I hadn’t said a word since Rin’s story had begun. “He couldn’t live with that—without you.”

Rin’s lopsided little smile returned, albeit greatly diminished.

“How did you know?”

“Because you don’t look like someone with a broken heart,” I admitted. “Maybe a little bruised. But nothing more than that. Though… I suppose that must be why you aren’t speaking to one another.”

“Hm. Something like that.”

“But if Alain agreed not to go along with the kidnapping,” said Casien, “then why did you write…” He trailed off, his eyes widening.

“Exactly,” said Rin, “The arrangement was called off. But now some of the most disreputable people in High Rock and Skyrim now knew about the moot. They knew that we would be there, and so would Queen Elora. So would every jarl in Skyrim. And I have a feeling they were perfectly willing to sell that information.”

“And give our enemies time to do something about it,” said Casien weakly.

It had been only a little over a month now since I’d first arrived in Solitude. That was also the first time I’d learned about the moot—and so it had been for the citizens of Solitude, as well. I imagined the same could be said for cities across Skyrim—that most had only learned about the moot a few days before or after their jarls had left to participate in it. For such a vast region, a month still afforded very little time for enemy forces to mobilize, to put some sort of counter-plan into action, and that had surely been the intention behind such secrecy. And as for Farrun and Jehanna…

“Most know very little,” said Rin, after I’d asked. “Only a few of Allie’s closest advisors knew exactly where we were going and why. Things at court tend to get a little on the backstabby side, and I do mean that in the most literal sense.”

“And people say Skyrim politics are bloody,” muttered Casien.

“You know, it used to be tradition for the king or queen of Farrun to have what was called a ‘right hand’—a glorified bodyguard, essentially, to protect against that sort of thing.” Rin smiled. “Allie dismissed his after we were married.”

“…But who protects him when you’re gone?” I asked, for I recalled that he claimed to enjoy his freedom, and often wandered away from court for days—and even knowing him as little as I did now, I could believe it.

“Oh, it’s taken care of,” came the disturbingly calm answer. “Plus everyone knows that if anything ever happened to Allie, they’d have me to deal with.”

I supposed that was just the sort of thing monarchs—and their spouses—had to be constantly concerned about. Even Casien had spoken very casually about the dangers that had and could potentially still befall his person. And later, his great bear of a husband had looked me right in the eye and coldly suggested that if Falk cared for me at all, he might consider seeing to my own safety.

I didn’t like that particular line of thought, not one bit. For one thing, I was not going to marry Falk. I don’t know why I felt so adamant about it, for I knew I cared for him a great deal. I liked him; I _more_ than liked him. But he hadn’t married Lady Bryling, even after all the years they’d been together. Why should he suddenly decide to marry me? It was wrong—it was presumptuous—to even _think_ of such a thing; it made me feel almost ashamed, as if I were envisioning myself being given something I hadn’t earned or deserved.

But I also had no real _desire_ to be the husband of a jarl, or any sort of political figure. Oh, it was one thing to write about princes and princesses, lords and ladies and guard captains. I liked to envision myself living in the lap of luxury (and lying in the arms of a strong, handsome man) as much as the next person. But that was fantasy. Reality was sitting right beside me now in my little palace room, talking about political assassinations and abductions as if they were everyday occurrences.

Of course, I tried not to actually _imagine_ the man I was in love with asking me to marry him.

I supposed I should at least try to kiss him, first.

“Will you tell that king of yours?” asked Rin.

“We don’t hide things from each other,” said Casien, though I could tell he was conflicted—no, nervous—as if he thought Rin would be angry with him.

But Rin only nodded.

“I assumed you would. Like I said: I trust you both. People say a lot of things about Ulfric Stormcloak, even in Farrun. But I’ve met the man himself; I’ve traveled and fought beside him—even more importantly, I’ve done the same with his husband, and I think I’ve figured out how that works now. I’m reasonably confident your king _won’t_ walk up to Allie and Shout him into oblivion for his cowardice—not if you have anything to say about it.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your husband that way,” said Casien, frowning. “I’m sure he isn’t a coward.”

“Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. But I don’t need him knowing that you now both know what he did—or almost did.”

“So you _were_ trying to hide the truth from him in that letter.”

Rin shrugged and smiled.

“Or maybe I just wanted to write a secret letter. Either way, it’s best if Allie thinks he’s left his little indiscretion back home. Meanwhile, I don’t think it would be a bad idea if someone saw to the security of this place.”

“That means Ulfric probably _will_ tell Falk,” said Casien, glancing at me. He smiled a little. “You can act surprised when he tells you.”

I frowned, and hated how I could feel my cheeks heating up again.

“We don’t really talk about politics,” I said, my tongue feeling a bit thick in my mouth—I don’t know why it embarrassed me so much to talk about my relationship. “Honestly, we… we don’t really talk much at all.”

That probably came out a little sadder than I meant it to, for Casien’s expression turned almost pitying.

“Oh,” said Rin, a dreamy, lazy look in his eyes. “Allie and I were like that the first few months…”

“That’s not what he means,” said Casien, rolling his eyes, and it took me a moment to understand—and now my cheeks were _really_ red.

“…He’s very busy,” I managed as I covered my poor, hot face with my hands. “That’s… that’s all I meant.”

“Hm, this Falk must be something to make you blush so hard. He’s good-looking, I’ll give you that.”

“Well,” said Casien, glancing at me. “They haven’t actually…um…”

Rin’s eyes went momentarily huge.

“You haven’t _slept_ with him yet? What in Oblivion are you waiting for? I’d have climbed that like a tree by now.”

“Laurie,” said Casien quickly, “It’s all right. Just ignore him. Would you like me to make you some more tea?”

“I’m all right,” I said, though I think my face had now gotten so hot it was making me dizzy.

“Oh,” said Rin, “is teasing bad, too? Or is it the sex talk?”

“All of it!” said Casien, sounding exasperated, “At least try to change the subject!”

They both made valiant attempts to do so, which is how I learned that Queen Elora snored, loudly; that Casien had a white cat named ‘Chomper’ whom he missed very much; that Rin was allergic to strawberries—which prompted Casien to gasp in horror—; and that Casien’s husband never danced, but that he was determined to get him to do so at the banquet.

“Oh, you’ll like Breton dances,” said Rin, “Allie and I love to dance. We’ll have to show you some.”

“Maybe Laurie knows them, too?” asked Casien, smiling a little at me.

“I’m… not much of a dancer,” I managed, which was a roundabout way of not admitting I’d never really danced before, at least not formally.

“Well, you’ll have to save a dance for me,” said Casien. “And I’m sure Jon will dance with you, too.”

_Falk likes to dance_ , I wanted to say, for he’d told me as much, but I’d just gotten my embarrassment under control and didn’t want to find myself once again paralyzed with shame.

It was getting late now, and my double dose of tea was catching up with me. Casien, too, was getting sleepy—I think he was an early riser, and it was thus already well past his usual bedtime. Only Rin seemed wide awake, though he confessed he’d always been a bit of a night owl, and needed little more than a few hours of sleep each night. He surprised neither of us by hopping back up onto the windowsill, declaring he might explore the palace a bit, and waving good-bye before disappearing into the night.

Meanwhile, I walked Casien to the door—where a woman wearing the armor and colors of Windhelm stood silently waiting.

“I see Ulfric isn’t taking any chances anymore,” I said wryly, glancing at the guard.

Casien just smiled.

“I’m only disappointed he now probably has a reason to worry again. Good night, Laurie—and thanks for letting us use your room. I promise to tell Jon everything, if I get a chance. And…” He hesitated here, his expression softening. “I’m sorry Rin teased you so much. He’s a good person, really. He’s just… different.”

I sighed a little, my lower lip finding its habitual place between my teeth.

“…It’s a lot,” I finally added, though that still wasn’t quite what I was really trying to say. “It’s just… a lot…”

Casien stepped forward, his hand squeezing my arm. It was a kindly gesture, for I don’t think he was a very tactile person, at least not with those he didn’t know very well.

“I understand,” he said. “Trust Falk. And remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. That includes being involved in any of this.”

I nodded, then he smiled and stepped away again. We waved good-bye, and I waited until he and the guard had turned away before closing the door behind them.

_Trust Falk_. Surprisingly, I found it to be sound if simple advice. I ran a quick bath and afterward dressed down into my sleep clothes—making certain to close my window before getting into bed. I hugged my stuffed bear to my chest, closed my eyes, and thought of him. Warm, amber eyes; a large hand resting gently on my hand or shoulder; lips curling into a bashful smile… my lover, in all but name. I felt guilty for thinking about kissing him—for thinking about _being_ with him, even after the rather harrowing conversation I’d just had with Casien and Rin. I would have to tell him, too; I couldn’t assume that the others would. After Second Planting, everyone would know who I was and what I meant to the jarl of Solitude. That made me a liability. Casien’s husband had observed as much, even long before we’d learned about any of this. Would I, too, soon have a guard assigned to follow me everywhere I went?

As I lay seconds away from sleep, I couldn’t help thinking that the safest place was surely in the arms of the man himself. I contented myself with that thought: that it couldn’t be very long before we could be together like that—before I could fall asleep beside him, with my arms wrapped around him and my face buried in his warm, naked skin.

//

_I don't have any face claims for Rin yet_ 😭 _but here, have an Alain:_

__

_He even has little semi-pointed Breton ears_ 😋

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, just to catch everyone up on height, age, etc...
> 
> Laurie: 25, 6'  
> Falk: 44, 6'1  
> Casien: 26: 5'6  
> Ulfric: 43 (I think), 6'3  
> Rin: 27, 5'5  
> Alain: 33, 5'9
> 
> Jon is about 30 and probably a lanky 6'1. 
> 
> Questions about anyone or anything else? Ask and ye shall know (even if I have to make the answer up on the spot 🤣)


	21. Chapter 21

The following morning, I awoke to breakfast as usual. But lying on the tray, tucked under the porcelain plate bearing the wolf-headed sigil of Solitude, was a neat, off-white envelope.

The wax sealing the envelope also bore the wolf sigil, and as I sat down slowly on my bed and slid a butter knife under the seal to break it, I pulled out the card nestled inside.

_The jarl of Solitude cordially invites you to attend a banquet this evening, the sixth of Second Seed, honoring the arrival of Queen Elora Charpentier of Jehanna, and King Alain Delacour of Farrun and his husband, Prince Rininion. Food and drinks to be served beginning at half past six; music, dancing, and a special ceremony to honor the eve of Second Planting to follow._

The letter was in gold stencil, and it shone in the mid-morning sunlight streaming in through my window. I supposed the same invitation had been sent to everyone: the jarls, their spouses, their retinue, the local thanes and their families, as well. But—tonight! I had thought the banquet was to be held on Second Planting—not the day before! The realization made my heart pound dully in my chest. Tonight was the night I would officially stand beside my lover, hand-in-hand, for all to see. I thought of the nobles Karita and I had encountered yesterday—how they’d clearly tried to befriend me, only for me to realize, courtesy of my friend, that they only wanted to _use_ me. I would no doubt be seeing and meeting many of them tonight.

But… Falk would be by my side the entire time, wouldn’t he? Well, unless he _couldn’t_. It was possible he would be as necessarily distracted as he always was, forced to play host to the myriad powerful factions that had gathered here in the palace. Still… I was his _date_. He’d said as much. Surely, that meant…

I realized suddenly that I was having trouble breathing, my heart fluttering erratically against my ribcage. I closed my eyes, set the card down, and forced myself to take several slow, deep breaths. I did this for a good minute or so, counting through each inhale and exhale. It was a familiar routine.

Afterward, I calmly slid the note back inside the envelop and set it back down on the breakfast tray. Then I dressed, slipped both lute and backpack over my shoulders, and made my way determinedly down the hallway, out towards the front entrance of the palace, and finally outside on the path leading back towards the city.

“Let me get this straight,” said Karita, as we sat together over breakfast at the Skeever half an hour later—well, she was eating breakfast, I was sipping coffee. “You’re invited to an official banquet as the jarl’s date. So then you immediately decide to run away and spend the day with me?”

“I’m not ‘running away’,” I said, frowning. “I just need to clear my head. I can’t…” I sighed, resting my hand absently over my heart and rubbing my chest lightly. “Just the thought of being in front of all those people…”

“All right, all right,” she said, quickly laying a comforting hand over my arm and giving it a warm little pat. “I think I understand. So, tell me: What would you like to do today?”

I thought for a moment, then: “There are shops outside the city, aren’t there? I remember seeing them the day I arrived.” I met her eyes and shrugged. “Maybe we could visit them…?”

“Sure, we can do that. But first—” She picked up a piece of buttered toast smeared with jam on her plate and handed it to me. “Eat.”

“…I’m not very hungry,” I said, trying not to make a face.

“That’s just your nerves talking. If you don’t eat properly you’ll be all faint-y and light-headed tonight, and you don’t want that, do you?” She wiggled the piece of toast under my nose. “Eat it.”

I sighed and took it from her, taking a forlorn bite. Admittedly, it was rather good, so I did end up eating the entire thing. She gave me one of her sausages, too, and once we were outside the city, we stopped at a delicious-smelling kiosk and ordered a pastry apiece.

It was hard to forget about what was inevitably going to happen that evening, but Karita did her best to distract me. It was only the eve of Second Planting, yet there were already a few traveling performers and vendors setting up, even outside the city. We bought little specialty candies and sweets, flower crowns made by village children, and candles allegedly blessed by a priest and priestess at the appropriate temple—Kynareth for me, Dibella for Karita. She teased me and told me to buy one for Falk—one blessed by the priestess of Mara, of course—and I did, only to appease her, for I couldn’t imagine ever gifting it to him.

We were almost too stuffed full of sweets to enjoy lunch. The beer we bought to wash it down didn’t help the sleepy feeling that had begun to come over me. It was still early, but Karita suggested I head back to the palace, have a bit of tea, and try to take a nap. It would help settle my nerves, she said, and leave me fresh-faced and ready to face the evening. It was sound advice, much as I hated to admit it—going back to the palace meant having to face the inevitable: being universally recognized and acknowledged as the lover of the jarl of Haafingar Hold. If my heart didn’t pound out of my chest first, and my lungs didn’t stop working altogether, my stomach was probably going to force me to empty its contents if I thought about it for too long. So, I didn’t.

As I lay down on my bed and pulled my old, stuffed bear to my chest, I let my thoughts drift towards something far more pleasant instead: kissing.

Lying under the bedcovers; coming off a sugar high; and feeling drowsy from being in the sun all morning, drinking my tea, and suffering from overtaxed nerves proved to be the perfect combination. Letting my mind lazily replay the imagined sensation of a pair of lips pressing against my own over and over—and a strong pair of arms holding me close, and maybe a tongue even slipping in to brush against my own—didn’t exactly hinder the onset of peaceful oblivion. I slept rather soundly, my brain kindly entertaining me with the pleasantest of dreams. They were too foggy when I finally awoke to remember them properly, but I still had the sensation of lying in a bed of wildflowers, the rays of the sun bathing my body in warmth, and the man I loved holding my hand and whispering ardent nothings into my ear.

In was all silly nonsense, of course. But as it left a smile on my face, and my stomach dipping pleasantly instead of lurching painfully, I saw no reason to chastise myself for it.

The sun was now low in the sky, and though I didn’t have a clock in my room, the sun dial in the rose garden just outside my window told me it was time to start getting dressed.

I selected a dark brown pair of trousers first. They were more fitted to my body than I was used to, and even though they buttoned instead of tied, I didn’t need a belt to keep them up. The fabric was thick but soft to the touch—I felt silly stroking my own thigh, but really, I’d never worn such fine fabrics before in my life. I pulled on a fresh undertunic, then narrowed my final choice down to three different tunics. I wasn’t much of a clotheshorse, so I’d simply selected the three with the prettiest colors but the least ostentatious (to my mind) design—for some had gold and silver stitching, and elaborate patterns etched into the material.

In the end, I settled on a soft, grayish-blue tunic with brown buttons the same color as my new trousers. The stitching was light gray and unobtrusive, and when I shrugged into it, the cuff of the sleeves went down to the knuckle of my thumbs. That must be Altmeri fashion, I thought, as was the unusual front opening of the tunic, for instead of buttoning straight up and down over my chest, it did so diagonally, after meandering away from a collar that hugged my neck, though it left an opening for my throat so that I didn’t feel as if I were constricted. The bottom of the tunic fell just past my hips, not quite mid-thigh.

I had no mirror and thus couldn’t see what I looked like, but hopefully the overall effect wasn’t too terrible. I pulled on socks and boots—my own, scuffed up, old boots, but that couldn’t be helped. I thought I might do something with my hair, as per Casien’s suggestion, and remembered how his husband liked to pull it partially back from his face. I tried that with mine, but not having a proper mirror made it impossible to judge how it looked. Falk had liked my ponytail, but it seemed inappropriate for such a formal gathering. In the end, I simply left it loose.

Then, I sat down on my bed, and waited.

I thought about brewing more tea, but I didn’t want to combat nervousness with drowsiness, so decided against it. I did slip some of the chewing root Healer Errin had given me into my pocket, though I hoped I wouldn’t be needing it. Fainting in front of a roomful of nobles wasn’t the way I planned on topping off my evening.

No, it was foolish of me, but I was hoping against hope for something far pleasanter.

_Foolish_ —because I knew in my heart he wouldn’t have much time for me tonight. It wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t hold it against him in any way. But I would so have preferred another night alone together on the rooftop than some fine gathering, forced to mingle with my betters.

The soft knock on the door made me start.

That would be Soren. So it was time, then. I took a deep breath before standing, smoothing down the front of my new tunic, making my way towards the door, and opening it.

Only it wasn’t Soren.

It was the jarl.

For a moment, we both simply stood there gazing at one another—me in obvious surprise, him with his mouth half-open as if he’d been about to say something.

He blinked, closed his mouth, and swallowed.

“You look…” His eyes trailed downward before meeting my eyes again, and I suddenly felt myself blush, rather hotly, too. “…beautiful.”

I thought that was somewhat hyperbolic, as I hadn’t done anything significantly different to myself. I was wearing new clothing, yes, and I supposed it was very _fine_ clothing at that, but still. I also probably should have returned the favor—made some comment about how beautiful his eyes were, or how much I admired the fine red coat he was wearing.

I _should_ have. But I didn’t.

“…You’re not Soren,” I finally managed to say.

He smiled.

“No,” he agreed, eyes twinkling. “I’m not.”

After a moment, he offered me his arm. I hesitated only for a second before closing the door behind me and slipping my hand inside the crook of his elbow, my fingers wrapping lightly around the thick warmth of his sleeve.

His arm was quite a bit bigger than mine—even bigger than Jon’s, actually, though I had come to understand that Jon was rather willowy for a Nord. (Not that I’d ever call him _willowy_ to his face, of course. Well, unless I caught him gossiping about me again.) Just as I had when I’d grabbed his arm in the rose garden, I could feel the muscle beneath the fabric of his coat and tunic. I don’t know why, but it made my heart beat fast—faster than it should have, really, and I had to swallow and try to focus on walking so that I wouldn’t get dizzy.

“You’re nervous,” he said gently, and he moved to rest his free hand over mine. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, but it was a moment before I could respond.

“…I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m just… not very good at talking to people. Especially people I don’t know.”

He gave my hand a warm, light squeeze.

“I promise you won’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to. And Jon and Casien will be there. Though I’m afraid Jon won’t be sitting near us for the banquet.”

I nodded, but true conversation was beyond me at that point. I was too busy trying very hard not to let on how much I enjoyed touching his arm.

He kept his free hand resting over mine, and I confess it did help to steady me. The closer we neared the banquet hall, however, the less enamored I became of his physical presence. Instead, I mentally clung to it, his solid warmth a balm against my unhappy anticipation of what was to come. I knew I couldn’t literally use him as a shield once we were surrounded by so many other people, but that didn’t stop me from unintentionally half-clinging to him as we walked.

I heard the banquet hall before I saw it. There were already people there; I heard them talking and laughing; I heard the clink of silverware against flatware, the scrape of chairs against flooring, the sound of servants bustling back and forth. I wondered at his arriving after some of his guests, for he was technically the host, but I put the thought in the back of my mind and tried to prepare myself for what was to come.

The hall was quite large. Most palaces and castles in Skyrim, as I understood it, were modeled after the ancient longhouse—the seat of tribal kings and queens of old, and a place for all within the tribe to gather during the cold, harsh months of winter. But the Blue Palace was somewhat different. I think it had more in the way of Breton architecture than Nord in many ways, and I supposed this had to do with Solitude being a coastal city and being so near the High Rock northern border.

Tables filled the hall, far more than I would have anticipated, and they were already half-full. It seemed to me as if half of Solitude had been invited to dine with their jarl and meet the Breton monarchs, but I supposed I just hadn’t realized quite how many noble families there were. The wide expanse of greenery and fine houses that led the pathway to the Blue Palace probably should have clued me in.

“Laurie…?”

I started and looked at Falk. That’s when I realized we’d stopped—we’d stopped because _I’d_ stopped, my feet planting firmly at the entrance to the hall and refusing to move one step closer. People were already looking in our direction; of course they were, I was standing beside _the jarl_. Soon they would all be wondering who I was, and they’d stare at me, and question me, and talk at me and laugh at me, and I just _couldn’t_.

I pulled my hand free from his arm as if on instinct. But he caught it—gently. Our eyes met for a moment; his own were warm and anxious. I felt his other hand encircle my waist, and he very swiftly but gently turned me and led me back out of the room.

I wasn’t sure where we were going—back to my room, I hazarded, and I felt my whole body bloom hot with humiliation. He retained hold of my hand, and his arm was still partially around my waist as well. He led me—not back down the hallway we’d just come through, but outside, into one of the many inner courtyards that made up the palace. This one was open to the darkening sky, and small, for there was nothing here but a few pretty trees and bushes and one, solitary stone bench.

He sat down on it, pulling me down beside him. I felt his hand on my cheek and turned to look at him. He smiled, his fingertips brushing softly over my skin.

“Better?” he asked.

But I couldn’t face him. How could I, after my ridiculous reaction? Instead, I turned my head, lowering my face into my palms and struggling to take just _one_ long, deep breath.

“Oh, Laurie,” he murmured, and I heard pity and sorrow and even amusement in his voice—but I heard love, too, and it made my heart turn over in my chest.

I felt his hand on my back, rubbing me soothingly, stroking, up and down, up and down. It made me want to shiver pleasantly, but I resisted. I finally pulled my hands away from my face, but I was too embarrassed to lift my eyes to his.

“Would you like me to take you back to your room?” he asked.

I bit my lip—but I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to that. I didn’t _want_ to go back, to lose my spot at his side for one, wonderful night. But I didn’t think I could do it, either, I truly didn’t.

“Laurie…” he continued, his voice now almost anxious. “I want you to understand. Being with me—it doesn’t require that you must ever do anything you don’t _wish_ to do. If you feel you cannot join us tonight, then you needn’t. But it changes nothing between us.”

I finally managed to take a nice, proper breath, and nodded. I chanced a glance at him, and he smiled.

_It sort of comes with the territory…_

Casien, Soren, Karita… they all seemed to be trying to convince me of that. And I wanted to believe that they were wrong, that I was always going to be a just a displaced farm boy with a pointless crush on a jarl. Yes, the jarl returned my silly feelings (which I supposed maybe weren’t all that silly in the first place), but did it really have to _mean_ something? Did it really even matter that we liked one another—even though we were so, incredibly different?

I looked into the warm, earnest face of the man sitting beside me, and knew I had my answer.

“But… I _want_ to join you,” I said, biting my lip again.

Because I did. I wanted to be a part of his life, and if that included fine banquets and fancy dance halls, then so be it. I didn’t wish to spend the entirety of our relationship secluded in a garden somewhere, too afraid to do more than cautiously hold his hand in the dark.

“All right,” he said. “But you may leave at any time. When you do, if you like, I can walk back with you, or I can send for Soren.” His eyes searched mine. “Will that do?”

After a moment, I nodded again, and he smiled. His hand came to rest on my cheek again, and for some reason, his expression seemed to change. His eyes still held my own, but they seemed to darken and, after a moment, lowered to focus on my lips instead.

There was slight pressure on my cheek, his thumb gently stroking me there before his fingers pressed ever so slightly into my skin, tilting my head towards his own. He leaned towards me—it happened so quickly—his eyes sliding closed, so I let my own slide closed, too, and before I knew it, I felt his lips pressing against my own. I couldn’t breathe, though I had dreamed of drinking in his scent the first time we kissed, of making note of the prickle of his beard against my skin, of his nose nudging against my own.

He pulled back, the kiss over almost as soon as it had begun, and gazed at me through warm, half-lidded eyes.

“There,” he murmured. “You’ve been expecting that for some time, I think. Half-dreading it, unless I’m mistaken.” He smiled a little, a familiar twinkle coming to his eyes.

I blinked at him—already I wanted to kiss him again, to feel his entire warmth pressing against my own.

“I thought it would be longer,” I admitted.

He looked at me then laughed, eyes shining now as he gazed at me in apparent wonder.

“There will be others,” he said, looking as though he were trying not to laugh again. “Longer. Better. I promise.”

I smiled, feeling suddenly too embarrassed and silly to say more. He stood up then, and, after a moment, I stood up beside him. He took my hand in his, kissed it, then nodded towards the courtyard’s opening, leading back into the palace.

“Shall we?”

I nodded, and off we went. However, just before we approached the banquet hall doorway again, I paused, reaching and fumbling into my pocket. Falk gave me a questioning look, and, after a moment, I pulled out the root the healer had given me, holding it up for him to see.

“Healer Errin gave it to me,” I explained. “I’m supposed to chew on it when I… well, whenever I think I need it.”

I took a quick breath before settling it between my teeth on one side of my mouth. I began to chew, cautiously—I winced; it had a sharp though not unpleasant taste. I didn’t feel any differently, however, until suddenly…

I hummed, and blinked a few times, for the world around me had very quickly, though very softly and very subtly, gone rather dim. The noise of the crowd faded to a dull, indiscriminate murmur, and for some reason I closed my eyes…

“…Laurie?!”

I reopened them, breathing in, slowly and deeply. My cheek was resting on something sturdy and soft, and my face was pressed into warm skin. I felt an arm wrapped rather tightly around me, as though to help hold me up; another was resting on my hip. After a second, I blinked again and straightened, reaching out without thinking to brace myself against… a very solid chest.

I looked at Falk, who was gazing back at me in real alarm, his hands now resting on my shoulders.

“Laurie!” he repeated. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine…” I said, shaking my head slightly.

I looked down at my hands, still resting lightly on the front of his coat.

“Are you certain?” he asked. “I thought you might have fainted!”

“I’m certain,” I said. I smiled, hoping to relieve some of his anxiety. “I promise. I feel… better. A little light-headed and…” I lay my hand absently over my stomach. “…maybe a bit queasy. But better.”

He frowned.

“It’s very fast-acting, whatever it is.” He sighed. “But I suppose Errin wouldn’t have given it to you if it were dangerous. Did she say anything about eating or drinking after taking it?”

I frowned, thinking, but then shook my head.

“No. Only that I should only chew for a little bit, and not swallow it.”

“Then you’ll indulge me by spitting the damned thing out before it does you some harm.”

I smiled, amused by his anxious concern—I’d never heard him curse before, or speak in such an abrupt tone of voice. I pulled the root back out, making a face at it before slipping it into my pocket, as I couldn’t very well just toss it onto the palace floor.

“And you’ll tell me if you start to feel dizzy or ill?” he asked, offering me his arm again, which I took.

“I promise,” I said.

He sighed, but apparently that would have to do. We resumed our trek towards the banquet hall—and this time, as we passed the threshold, my feet kept going. I couldn’t help feeling that healers were miracle-workers, though I supposed my newfound fortitude had something to do with the tall, sturdy presence at my side.

And probably—more than probably—something to do with the fact that I’d just had my first kiss—and that the man who’d given it to me was still right beside me. His presence alone made me feel as if my feet barely touched the floor upon which I tread.

There was probably nothing in that moment I felt I couldn’t conquer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter feels a little abrupt, it's because it was originally much longer! I had to cut it in half 😅 And then the next chapter ended up being twice as long, so...! And oh boy, THAT one... 👀👀👀
> 
> I based Laurie's outfit somewhat on ESO Aldmeri Dominion clothing, though more on the female armor than the male armor (I don't care for the weird shoulder things they give male armor). Laurie will eventually develop his own style, much the same way Casien has, but that's a ways from now... ;)
> 
> By the way, did you know Casien has his own blog? You can check it out here: https://casienyedlin.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'm thinking about giving Laurie his own blog, too! What do you guys think? Want to see lots of tea and music and dogs and horses? (Did you know Laurie likes dogs and horses?)
> 
> And lastly, don't forget to join Casien's Discord if you'd like to chat about the stories or just keep track of updates: https://discord.gg/6WmJcSF


	22. Chapter 22

My second attempt to enter the banquet hall was vastly different from the first. I was now actually able to view the array of tables and guests with a sort of soft, curious awe. The guests were all quite splendidly dressed, and I liked the way they glanced up, then glanced up again when they saw with whom it was I was walking. Sometimes they would nudge the person beside them, sometimes lean over and whisper into their ear. I supposed the root I’d chewed a moment ago allowed me to view these little interactions with more amusement than embarrassment.

“Jarl Falk!” said a jovial, handsome man as we approached the center table. “You’ve returned to us!”

“And with a new friend in tow,” said a dark-haired woman, her eyebrows rising slightly.

“Yes,” said Falk, pausing first to pull my chair out for me—I took it, though the gesture embarrassed me as much as it had that first night, the night of our rooftop dinner date—before seating himself.

“This is Laurie,” he continued, and I felt his hand come to rest on my thigh under the table. My heart gave a little jump in my throat, and he looked at me, smiled, and quickly moved to slip his hand in mine instead. “Laurie, this is King Alain of Farrun and Queen Elora of Jehanna.”

“Charmed,” said the jovial man, beaming at me and holding his hand out for me to take. He was quite excessively handsome, with a neat beard; bright, blue-gray eyes; and a preponderance of thick, brown hair bound behind him in a loose sort of bun.

“…You’re Rin’s husband,” I said, tentatively taking his hand; he had a warm, hardy handshake, and he laughed at my appellation for him.

“Yes,” he said cheerfully, “That’s me, Rin’s husband! I like that!”

“You would,” said Rin, who slouched beside him, his boot propped up on the edge of his chair so he could rest his elbow on his knee. He flashed me a little smile. “Hello, Laurie.”

“Hello,” I said, smiling in return.

Rin had indicated that he and Alain weren’t speaking, yet if they were truly at odds with one another, it appeared to be mostly one-sided. Alain still laughed at everything Rin said, and gazed at him as if he were made of candy—though I supposed there was a certain sheepishness about him, as if he were perfectly aware that he was still in the marital doghouse, and hence was rather anxious to prove himself worthy of getting out of it. Rin was consistently contrary towards him, but in an almost charming way. Still, he was all smiles with me and Falk, and with Queen Elora and her sister.

For the dark-haired woman who had made that comment about me was the queen; the pretty, much younger, blond girl beside her was her sister, Princess Penelope—though Elora called her ‘Poppy,’ as Bretons are rather fond of nicknames (I should know). Queen Elora sat directly across from me, and her sister was across from Falk. Alain and Rin were to the left of Elora, and the seats across from them, at least according to the little folded placard on each empty plate, were reserved for ‘High King Ulfric Stormcloak’ and ‘Lord Casien Yedlin’.

Our table was in the very middle of the room; before us and behind us dined the curious, gossiping noble families of Solitude. The other jarls were spread out on either side of us, all no doubt placed strategically beside one another so as to instigate the least amount of tension. Sorli and her husband, for instance, sat near Elora and Poppy, and placards bearing the names of the Stuhn brothers sat to Falk’s left. Aliss Felgeif sat on the other side of the empty space where Casien and Jarl Ulfric were meant to sit, and across from her were Thadgeir and his wife. Falk had said that Jon would not be sitting near us, but I couldn’t even see him—I supposed like several others, he hadn’t yet arrived.

“Your gallant lover left us to go and fetch you,” said Elora, raising her eyebrows again. “He must be very fond of you.”

“…Oh,” I said, glancing at Falk and feeling suddenly very embarrassed that he would have done such a thing—and half-wondering how much grief Soren must have given him for it.

“I suppose I _am_ very fond of him,” he said, squeezing my hand under the table. “Though you’ll make me blush to admit it, Your Majesty.”

“Elora, please.” She smiled, the small expression briefly softening her features. “You are well-matched. I like when a couple can look one another in the eye on the dance floor.”

“Is that a dig at the two of us?” asked Alain, laughing at Rin, who only smiled. Elora smirked playfully in return.

“Perhaps it would be,” she replied, “if you were only a _little_ taller.”

That made them both laugh, and the princess, too. Rin only rolled his eyes, though when he saw me looking at him, he smiled again.

“Falk says you are from a village near Farrun,” said the princess, her pretty, green eyes blinking curiously at me. “How do you like Skyrim? Do you like it better than High Rock?”

“Don’t harass the poor man, Poppy,” said her sister. “You’ve now put him in an impossible position. He must either offend his lover—or his lover’s guests.”

“Laurie is incapable of giving offense,” said Falk, and if he were trying to ease my nerves, excessively complimenting me probably wasn’t exactly the way to do it.

“That I can believe,” said Rin, surprising me. “I nearly caused him to have a heart attack, and I swear he apologized to me for it.”

“…I did no such thing,” I said, pained at the way the others all laughed, though I could tell it was all good-natured laughter.

“What on Nirn did you do to give the poor fellow a heart attack?” asked Alain.

“He jumped through his window,” said a familiar voice behind me. “Uninvited, as usual.”

Casien smiled when I looked up at him, though the expression shifted to a frown when he noticed the name plates on the table. He put his hand on the chest of the large man looming behind him—his husband, of course—before quickly switching the plates around. Ulfric merely arched a brow at this before taking his new seat across from Rin and next to Aliss.

“There,” said Casien, smiling at me again. “Now we’re sitting next to each other.”

“You are friends with Lord Casien,” said Elora, giving us both a curious look. “I was under the impression that your relationship with Jarl Falk was rather new.”

“…It is,” said Falk, squeezing my hand again under the table, for, as usual, I found it too impossible to answer. “But I believe they have been much thrown together this past month, and it seems Casien has been kind enough to look after Laurie while I have been too busy to pay him the attention he deserves.”

I gave him an anxious look, for I longed to tell him that I understood why we couldn’t always be together—rarely at all, really, but of course I couldn’t. He smiled at me, and I think if we had been alone he would have kissed me again, or at least pressed his lips to the back of my knuckles, as he was so wont to do.

“Ohh, I can’t _wait_ to be in love,” sighed the princess, and I started and blushed.

“Divines preserve us when _that_ happens,” muttered the queen, making everyone else laugh—except Ulfric Stormcloak, who was busy listening to Aliss Felgeif and Jarl Thongvar. He seemed to have little interest in engaging the High Rock monarchs, though he didn’t ignore them when they addressed him. But he left the socializing to his more than capable husband. Even when it seemed the topic might more naturally suit him, such as hunting or riding, he did not join in unless his opinion were first sought after.

Falk was the opposite. He seemed to navigate the conversation smoothly, as if he’d been born a diplomat and not a merchant’s son—though I was beginning to learn that the two were not entirely dissimilar. Falk, Ulfric, and Casien were, in a way, selling an idea, and Elora and Alain were doing their best to express their skepticism, though the fact that they were even here belied their feigned disinterest.

“So the pretty note-taker is more than a mere note-taker,” said Jarl Sorli, the warm smile on her face taking the sting from her words. “You must tell us how you and Falk met. Did you travel to Solitude with Jon?”

“Now, now,” said Elora, wagging her finger playfully at the Hjaalmarch jarl. “We’ve already established that Laurie is one of ours.”

“Yes, but we do not know how _long_ he has been in Skyrim,” said Sorli, smiling playfully in return.

“Laurie came to seek his fortune in Solitude only a little over a month ago,” said Falk. He still held my hand under the table, and every time he spoke for me, he squeezed it ever so slightly. “I believe he had intentions to join the bard’s college, but he has decided to try his hand at writing professionally instead.”

“Oh!” said Poppy, “What sort of writing? I hope it’s romance; I _love_ a good romance.”

“Then you’re in luck,” said Casien, flashing me a little smile.

The princess was positively bouncing in her chair now.

“Will you let me read it?” she begged, her green eyes wide. “Whatever it is you’re working on? I promise I can be discreet! I won’t tell a soul until it’s published!”

“I should think not,” said Falk, laughing. “He won’t even let _me_ read his work.”

“Must be rather naughty stuff,” said Rin, flashing me his characteristic lop-sided smile.

“You should read it to him!” said Casien, his own eyes widening now. “Read it to Falk, I mean. I read Ulfric poetry sometimes.”

“Now that’s a _far_ more charming image of your relationship than I’d been entertaining in my head,” said Alain, giving Ulfric a curious smile.

“Am I so awful that you imagine I should not enjoy being read to by my husband?” asked Ulfric, though he seemed indifferent to the answer.

“Not at all,” said Alain, “I simply wouldn’t have pegged you for a poetry lover.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Elora, smiling. “Though I must say I agree with Alain. Are Nords not known more for their lust for battle than their love for poetry?”

“Nords have a very rich history of poetry,” said Casien, and I don’t think I was mistaken in thinking he looked a little miffed by the assumption. “Especially epic poetry. Most jarls keep very extensive personal libraries, too, and each hold’s palace houses one as well.”

“And there’s the bard’s college…” I said, speaking up without thinking.

“Right!” He beamed at me. “You can hardly accuse an entire country of having no love for poetry when they host one of the premier colleges for music and the arts in all of Tamriel!”

“Well done!” said Alain, laughing and clapping, and Elora and Poppy soon joined in. “That was a very spirited defense of your adopted homeland.”

“Well,” said Casien, frowning a little, “I guess I know what it’s like to be underestimated.”

He started a little and looked up at his husband, who was gazing down at him with something like warmth in his normally cold, blue eyes. I guessed that Falk and I must now not be the only couple holding hands under the table. It made me like the high king just a little bit more.

Dinner was served once the rest of the jarls or their representatives finally arrived. I did eventually see Jon; Casien waved to him, and he smiled and waved back, but he was seated quite far from us, next to Harrald, I think. _Jon and I are known to be friendly_ , explained Casien, so Soren and Falk must have made certain that Windhelm and Whiterun weren’t seated near one another, or else some of the other holds might become jealous and suspect them of conspiring together. The whole absurd notion that two friends could not sit near one another during dinner, lest they be accused of nefarious political shenanigans, was enough to make me reaffirm my refusal to ever become involved in politics, regardless of who I happened to be in love with.

For my part, I continued to be occasionally questioned by Alain or Elora or her sister, or sometimes Sorli or Aliss or the other jarls. Falk and Casien both seemed to work very hard to answer for me whenever it became clear that I was struggling to do so myself. Answers to personal questions about my writing or my relationship were too difficult for me to articulate, but I was at least capable of giving my opinion on the food I was eating, or the weather in Solitude, or the color of Poppy’s dress. ( _It’s lovely_ , I cautiously pronounced, for it was—a very pretty shade of yellow; this was after everyone learned my mother was a former weaver, and then of course they wanted to know if she had made the beautiful tunic I was wearing. Falk had to step in and admit where it had come from, and for once, I was not the only one with an embarrassed flush on my face.)

Eventually, a woman came to lean behind Falk and murmur something into his ear. We had all finished dessert by now, and the princess was wondering when the dancing would begin, for she was eager to learn Nord dances. ( _I bet she’s already practiced them a thousand times_ , Casien muttered into my ear, and I had to try very hard not to smile.) After the woman left, Falk pushed his chair back and stood up, bowing slightly to his guests.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said. Then he leaned towards me, resting a hand on my shoulder and murmuring into my ear, “Stay with Lord Casien. I’ll be with you again soon.”

I watched, then, as he made his way towards the front of the room, stepping up onto a shallow platform before facing the array of tables. A servant handed him a fork and a champagne flute; he tapped the fork against the flute several times until the talk in the banquet hall died down.

“Friends and honored guests,” he said, smiling down at us all. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your dinner. I fear I cannot vouch for the company, though I hope you’ve managed to enjoy that as well.”

A ripple of laughter fluttered through the hall, and he waited for it to die down again before continuing.

“We will now be retiring to the dance hall, which, as many of you already know, is just through those doors there. I will be standing with Queen Elora, Princess Penelope, King Alain, and Prince Rininion should you wish to be introduced. Music and dancing will begin shortly.”

Apparently, this had all been discussed or rehearsed ahead of time, for no one appeared to be as confused as I felt. Luckily, Caisen looped his arm around mine as soon as everyone had begun to stand. I thought we might lead the way, considering who his husband was, but Nords evidently do not stand on the same ceremony as Bretons seemed to do—I heard Poppy even mutter to her sister that this was all terribly informal. Of course, that didn’t prevent many of the Solitude nobles from clamoring to speak with Ulfric, who was beginning to look less and less agreeable as we made our way towards the alleged dance hall. Luckily, Jon managed to find us, so Casien was able to hand me off to him, allowing him to deal with the scheming nobles on his husband’s behalf.

“Well, what do you think?” asked Jon, looping his arm around mine now. “Looking forward to a lifetime of this sort of thing?”

I shot him a pained look, and he laughed.

“So how bad did they grill you? I saw you were near Sorli; she’d have kept it polite, but those Bretons look nosy.”

“…It was fine,” I managed, trying to ignore the way some of the nobles near us were now staring at me with open curiosity.

“I’m sure it was. The terrified look on your face now tells me as much.”

I gave him another look, and he laughed again, this time holding up his hands.

“Sorry, sorry. Well, I’m sure Falk took care of you. Look at him! He looks like he was born to this, doesn’t he?”

We were passing him now, though there were several people between us, all of them local thanes eager to be introduced to the foreign king and queen. Falk stood beside them, hands clasped behind his back, welcoming each of his guests and occasionally gesturing to the foreign monarchs at his side. I hoped our eyes might meet, but they didn’t. It was the busiest I’d ever seen him, but Jon was right: he was a natural.

It left a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not that I resented him his duties, of course. Really, I couldn’t help admiring him, especially when I saw him standing there, so tall and handsome and relaxed, a shining beacon of everything I adored about him. What I struggled to imagine was myself standing beside him. I couldn’t see myself acting as Casien did—always at his husband’s side, supporting his agenda, smoothing the way. Then there was Jon, literally acting as his wife’s stand-in. _That_ I was certain I could never do. And the realization made me feel very small inside, for if it ever came to it… but no, I was doing exactly what I’d often chastised my friends for. Marriage, of all things! We’d only just had our first kiss!

I forced myself to take deep breaths, and I must have tightened my grip around Jon’s arm, for I felt his hand pat my own consolingly.

“Let’s find Casien again,” he said. “If we’re next to Ulfric, people will be less likely to bother you.”

The dance hall was actually slightly larger than the banquet hall, or perhaps it merely seemed so, for it was devoid of furniture, save the chairs, sofas, and small tables that occasionally lined the walls. A small group of musicians stood or sat at one end of the room, chatting and tuning their instruments. Jon waved to them and said they were from the college; I thought he might go and talk to them, but I supposed he was too busy taking care of me—it was embarrassing to be perceived as being so helpless by my friends, but, at the same time, I was more than grateful for their attention to me. There were several fireplaces about the room, but they were unlit, as it was the height of summer, and though it was a cool night, the press of so many warm bodies in the room kept the temperature high. To that end, several archways led to an outdoor balcony, where dancers and guests could presumably cool off before returning to the festivities.

“That’s also where we’ll release the lanterns,” said Jon, leading me through the crowd.

“…Lanterns?”

“For Second Planting’s eve. How do they celebrate in High Rock?”

I couldn’t speak for all of High Rock, but in my village at least, we told stories around the fire late into the night. It was also a time for confessions, a chance to admit wrong-doings and ask one’s loved ones for forgiveness, but to also express hope for the future. Skyrim was similar, apparently, though it involved writing those hopes down and tossing them into a burning fire.

Locating Casien wasn’t difficult, as there weren’t many tall, intimidating Nord warriors in the room with small, curly-haired Dunmer attached to their sides—in fact, there was only one.

“There you are!” said Casien. “Isn’t this exciting? We don’t really have big dances like this in Windhelm; there isn’t really room for it in the palace, and Ulfric hates dancing anyway. Have you seen Falk? Is he still with the Bretons?”

“It’ll probably be a while,” said Jon. “A lot of the locals want to rub shoulders with the king and queen, and this’ll probably be the only chance to do so for some of them.”

“How are you?” asked Casien, clearly speaking to me now. “Dinner was a bit much, I know. If you start to feel too crowded, we can always go out onto the balcony.”

“…I’m fine,” I said, though I couldn’t help wishing Falk were near; I didn’t like to be separated from him amidst all this.

“Oh, those nobles are eying us; I think they want to come over.”

“Maybe Ulfric could glare at them,” Jon joked, though he went pale when the jarl stopped talking to Lady Aliss and her retainer long enough to give him a look.

“That’s a great idea!” said Casien. He tapped his husband’s arm. “Can you glare at those nobles over there and keep them from coming over? I’m sure they want to talk to Laurie.”

“As my lord husband commands,” said the jarl, and I heard Aliss snort into her wine.

“I’m serious,” said Casien. “They only want to harass Laurie because they know he’s with Falk. Maybe you could just talk to Laurie; if they see he’s talking to you, they won’t want to interrupt.”

“Very well,” said his husband, and I felt myself suddenly forgetting how to breathe as he turned to face me—he had to look slightly down at me, for he was several inches taller than me.

“Not like that,” said Casien, sighing. “Now you’re glaring at _him_. You’re scaring him!”

“…He’s not,” I protested, though I did find it hard to meet the jarl’s eyes.

“Hm,” came the thoughtful reply. “And yet I am reminded of a colt who may shy should I make even the slightest unforeseen gesture.”

“Laurie isn’t a horse,” said Casien, putting his hands on his hips—and if the thought hadn’t been so ludicrous, I might have suspected him of jealousy.

The jarl’s lips twitched.

“He is not,” he agreed. “Though it has been my experience to discover that the care and keeping of young men is very much akin to the gentling of horses.”

“Oh, gods,” said Casien, now covering his face with both his hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Right, well, this got weirdly sexual,” said Jon.

As I couldn’t quite follow the metaphor, whatever it might have been, I remained mystified as to what was so objectionable. Meanwhile, Jon and Casien did their best to entertain me for the next few minutes. Every time they noticed some of the others eying us, Casien would tap his husband on the arm again and insist that he engage me in conversation. The ease with which this supposed great warlord-turned-high king acquiesced to the wishes of his diminutive husband was an unexpected delight, and those around us—Aliss, Harrald, Korir and his wife—seemed to take it all in stride, as if they were used to observing Ulfric Stormcloak calmly do the bidding of such a tiny person. He would obligingly ask me little nonsense questions—my favorite color, or my favorite dish or book—and I would answer, each time with less and less anxiety tripping up the tip of my tongue, for the more I spoke to him, the less intimidating I found him.

Jon even took me around the room once, to ‘walk off some of my nerves,’ though I think it was partly his own nerves we were walking off, for I saw more than one noblewoman eying him with curious interest—apparently, the very apparent wedding ring on his finger wasn’t much of a deterrent for them. We had looped back to Casien and Ulfric, and I was on my second glass of wine when I felt a sudden warm puff of air against my ear, along with a soft, murmured ‘hello.’

I started and turned, almost dropping my wine glass, and looked into the now guilty eyes of my lover.

“I’m sorry,” he said, laughing but anxiously gripping my shoulders as though to steady me. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Of course, I immediately wanted to kiss him. Perhaps if I’d been on my third glass of wine instead of my second, I would have.

“…You’re back,” I said instead, and had to content myself with pouring all my desire and affection for him into that simple, inane sentence.

“I am,” he said, and his hands had dropped to my waist, his thumbs stroking my sides. “The dancing should start soon. Are you ready?”

“…I’m not much of a dancer,” I said, for I was still too embarrassed to tell him I really had very little experience with dancing at all.

“The first should be a reel; you’ll recognize it, and even if you don’t, the movements are very simple, I promise.”

“All right,” I said, for I could hardly deny him, and besides—I didn’t like the thought of him standing up with anyone else for the first dance.

The musicians once again began tuning their instruments, though this time the other guests reacted by either clearing the dance floor or excitedly seeking a partner. Falk handed my nearly empty wineglass to a passing servant before smiling and taking my hand in his. I felt my heart drop into my stomach as we left the others and began to make our way towards the center of the room.

“We shall have to hold hands with some of the others,” he said before naturally leading me towards the Breton monarchs, so that the six of us now stood at the center of the room. We formed a small circle; Falk held my right hand, and Princess Poppy smiled and reached for my left. Other circles had formed around us, and as the jaunty music finally began, I quickly began to recognize the dance.

I’d danced it once or twice when I was a boy, usually during village festivals and the like. It was fast-paced, and my feet stumbled more than once, but the wine and the residual effects of the root kept any self-conscious feelings of awkwardness to a minimum. Sometimes we partnered back up again, held hands, and wove in and around the others; this afforded us the brief opportunity to talk, though I was often too breathless to respond.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked me, during one such little turn.

“…Yes!” I said, for I couldn’t think what else to say and still keep my feet underneath me where they belonged.

“Just so you know,” he said, as we ducked under the arms of Alain and Rin, “I shall be very hurt if you let the princess read your stories before me.”

I laughed before I could stop myself, and the resulting smile this brought to his own face made my heart feel as if it were now soaring in my chest.

I was half-surprised when the music ended, though I suppose it was a blessing, for I was now quite out of breath. When the princess made her way towards me and brightly asked for the next dance, I couldn’t even find enough air in my lungs to answer her.

“Give us a moment to rest, Your Highness,” said Falk, his hand warmly gripping my own again. “I’m sure Laurie would love to stand up with you once he’s ready to dance again.”

“Of course!” she said, flashing me a pretty smile.

“Then I shall wait to ask you as well,” said the queen, smiling at Falk. “Do I set myself too much of a challenge if I attempt to ask High King Ulfric for his hand?”

“I’m afraid you just might,” said Falk, laughing. “Though I believe his husband is _very_ fond of dancing.”

Her dark eyes flashed mischievously before she and her sister both left us to find new partners. Falk led me to a nearby sofa and sat down beside me, holding both my hands in his now. From time to time, someone would approach us, but he would shake his head ever so slightly, and they would leave.

“How do you feel?” he asked, squeezing my hands. “Not too out of breath, I hope?”

“Only a little,” I said, smiling, for the dizzy, breathless feeling had already left me. “I don’t know why I get like that sometimes. It’s only when I can feel my heart beating too fast, but I’m not in any danger, so long as I pace myself and make sure to take my tea every night.”

His expression softened then, in a sort of fond way that I was beginning to notice was reserved just for me.

“I believe the two are related,” he said gently. “The heart and the lungs. Have the healers never explained your condition to you?”

I shook my head.

“Only that my heart beats too fast, and I must try to remain calm.”

He surprised me then by cupping my face with one hand, his thumb stroking my cheek. The gesture embarrassed me, and I couldn’t help but look down at my lap.

“…Healer Errin told me that you had been to see her,” I heard myself say.

Immediately, my heart started beating fast again, though I made myself take a quick, deep breath, my eyes closing briefly.

“…Did she,” said Falk, and when I opened my eyes again, it was to see the freckles on his face standing out more than usual against the pink flush of his skin. He smiled and swallowed, his eyes dropping briefly. “I… realize… that is, I should not have…”

“It’s all right,” I said quickly, and when he looked up again, I smiled. “I’m glad you did.”

I couldn’t quite articulate why. I suppose the subject had been lurking in the back of my mind, too, only I’d never had the courage to ask a healer about it—plus there was the fact that I’d never really had a proper relationship until now anyway. But there was a part of me that was just simply touched, too… knowing that he had been so concerned about me, and that he had liked me so much, even back then.

It made me blush, yes, but it made my heart sing with happiness, too.

Just then, the music came to a stop again with a bright, final flourish. The dancers all stopped and clapped and cheered, folk either wandering off together or turning to look eagerly for another partner. Falk watched them with me before finally sighing.

“I suppose we had better find the princess,” he said, smiling. He stood up from the sofa and offered me his hand, which I took. “She’ll be looking for her partner.”

“So will the queen,” I said, and he gave a sheepish laugh. And then, just because he looked so beautiful, laughing and blushing ever so slightly, the light from the myriad chandeliers reflecting in his eyes, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek. His eyes shown even more afterward, and he brought a hand up to stroke my own cheek… but we were naturally interrupted by the princess, who I’m certain knew perfectly well what she was interrupting, if her playful little smile were anything to judge by.

The next dance, appropriately, was a Breton dance. It was slow, and very easy to follow; midway through, several other couples joined in, and soon the dancefloor became quite full. I couldn’t help sometimes peering through the crowd to watch Falk and the queen as we danced; they seemed quite comfortable and happy together, one or the other always smiling or talking spiritedly.

“Don’t be jealous,” said the princess, and of course I startled and very nearly stepped on her feet—to say nothing of the blush that now suffused my entire face.

“…I’m not… not…” I swallowed, but she only laughed her bright, little laugh.

“My sister isn’t interested in your jarl,” she said. “Promise. She isn’t interested in marriage or any of that sort of thing at all. That’s why _I_ have to marry. Otherwise one of our awful cousins will inherit the throne, or their grubby little children will, anyway.” She gave me a playful look. “Do you know any eligible gentlemen? I’m not picky. So long as he has a handsome face and a lovely figure.”

I blinked at her, rendered momentarily speechless by such a blasé pronouncement—then was promptly laughed at, and told in no uncertain terms not to take her so terribly seriously. Though she _was_ looking to marry, she admitted. But her sister placed no requirements on who her potential spouse must be—only that he be a decent man, worthy of her affections, and worthy of becoming a prince of Jehanna.

I had to admit that my circle of friends was exceedingly small, and that everyone I knew was either married or, well, not a man. There was Soren, but I didn’t think Falk would have appreciated me working to relieve him of his right-hand man.

The dance was slow enough for me to still feel up to another immediately afterward, which was just as well, for King Alain was the next to ask for my hand.

“You’re from Farrun,” he said, as he rested a hand lightly against my waist—I was taller, but he was leading.

“…Yes,” I said, as we began to move.

“A village near Farrun,” he corrected. “Alverton, is it?”

“Yes,” I replied.

I didn’t like having to look down into the eyes of a handsome man. It reminded me too much of my youth, of how awkward other boys would make me feel, especially if I tried to admit my feelings for them. But he was polite and friendly, despite my apparent discomfort, and my occasional inability to follow his expert lead.

“Have you been to Farrun often?” he asked, as he pulled us into a little turn.

“…No, not often.”

“Do you think you will remain in Skyrim?”

I blinked at him and tripped on my own feet; he caught me deftly, a twinkle appearing in his blue-gray eyes.

“…I don’t know,” I said.

“Might I offer you some advice?” he asked, and when I didn’t reply, he must have taken it as silent consent. “A king, jarl or otherwise, doesn’t invite you to a state dinner if he thinks you don’t intend to stay.”

I blushed, hotly—for I knew what he was implying, and it rankled me somewhat, for it seemed to be what _everyone_ wanted to imply around me. I didn’t know why everyone was so keen to tease me. Some I knew, at least, had my best interest at heart, and I had little doubt I was perceived as awkward and meek by those who cared for me. They probably thought I needed a little nudging every now and then. But why the king of my own province felt _he_ should tease me about my future—well, it was quite beyond me.

Though it did make me forget that, at least according to his husband, he had been caught red-handed planning to abduct one of my new friends. I suppose it was hard to think about that while staring into his handsome, smiling face.

He very gallantly bowed and brought my hand to his lips (though they didn’t quite touch my skin) once the dance was over. I was a little breathless again, but Falk was nowhere to be seen. Luckily, Jon was nearby, and he came and dragged me to another sofa, after which he proceeded to stuff me with more wine and food.

We danced the next dance together; he told me how relieved he was to have a partner who wasn’t intent on seducing him. This had the expected reaction of making me laugh out loud before offering my pseudo-solemn promise that I would not be seducing him tonight. I danced three more dances after that, exchanging Jon for Casien next, then Lady Aliss, then Queen Elora.

“You are quite flushed, my dear,” she said, after the dance had finished. “And rather out of breath. We should find your lover; it is his duty to see to your comfort, is it not?”

This was slightly embarrassing, but I wasn’t going to object if it meant finding Falk again. I had seen him dancing with other dignitaries, but we hadn’t had a chance to talk since separating. Luckily, having a queen at my side made my efforts to locate him significantly easier.

“Laurie!” he said, taking my hand in his while resting the other on my hot cheek. “Come, you need some air. Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said to Elora, who nodded with a gracious, little smile.

“…I’m all right,” I insisted, though I didn’t object when he began to lead me towards the outdoor balcony.

“I’m sure you are,” came the distracted reply, “But I’ve neglected you horribly, as usual. I saw you were with Jon, then you were dancing again, so I assumed you were well—one moment, Lady Thaena, I promise I’ll be right with you.”

He had to make similar apologies as we wove our way through the crowd, for it seemed everyone wanted a moment (always ‘just a moment’) of his time—which perhaps was hardly surprising, considering he was the gathering’s host. Nevertheless, I found it all utterly exhausting, and didn’t know how he managed to handle it without either snapping someone’s head off or running away at the first chance of freedom.

Though I supposed that was what we were doing now. The cool night air was a blessed relief as we made our way through one of the archways. There was a light breeze, too; it pushed the hair back from my face and brought with it the scent of the ornamental roses which wound their way up this side of the palace. There were others lingering here, couples, small groups, all of them talking softly, laughing, flirting. I was too tired to try and recognize any of them; I hadn’t tried to find Casien or Jon, either, as we’d made our way through the crowds. Maybe I was more exhausted than I realized.

“Here we are,” said my lover, leading me to a dark corner of the balcony, a nearby overgrown bush offering us a modicum of privacy. “No benches, I’m afraid, but we can lean against the wall. Mind the lanterns, though.”

Lanterns… Jon had mentioned them earlier, and now I could see them, lining the top of the wall surrounding the balcony. They were dark and seemed to be made of paper; I had to assume that at some point tonight they would be lit.

“Now…” I started a little as I felt his hand come to rest gently on my cheek. “Tell me, truly. Are you well?”

I sighed, very quietly, and closed my eyes, allowing myself to lean into his touch just for a moment. He was asking me for an honest answer, so I felt compelled to give him one.

“Mostly,” I said. “I think so, yes. I’m tired, but… I’m not unwell.”

“You don’t feel out of breath? Dizzy?”

I smiled and shook my head. He sighed a little and smiled back, his thumb stroking my cheek now.

“I’m being a mother hen, aren’t I? I shouldn’t pester you about your health so.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, and I meant it.

“And may I ask if you’re happy? I know this is probably quite unlike anything you’ve been forced to endure before. I can take you back to your room, if you like, or send for Soren.”

“No!” I said, the exclamation leaving me before I could stop myself. “I want to stay here, with you.”

The admission made me blush, but only a little. I expected him to blush as well, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes widened ever so slightly before a warm smile came to his face.

“I’m happy you feel that way,” he said.

His hands came to rest on my waist again, and I let my own rest on his broad chest. I loved the warm, fuzzy feeling of his velvety, red coat, as well as the solid muscle I could feel beneath it.

“Laurie…” He swallowed, and I realized I’d stopped breathing. “I realize this may be more than a little apparent at this point, but I feel compelled to confess it to you nonetheless.” He seemed to take a quick breath, his chest beneath my palms rising and falling quickly. “I’m in love with you. I think I have been for some time now. I’d call it ‘love at first sight’ were it possible outside the wildest of folk tales.”

He smiled, sheepish, and seemingly helpless, I thought—as though he couldn’t stop himself from revealing his heart to me. It made me ache inside for him.

“I thought you were so beautiful when I first saw you. You had the loveliest voice, and your hair, your face… then when you opened your eyes and looked at me, I swear my heart turned over in my chest.”

He brought a hand up, stroking my cheek again. I couldn’t speak—I didn’t know what to say. I could almost cry, for no one had ever spoken to me in such a way. It made me so happy, but almost afraid, as if it were _wrong_ to feel this happy.

“For a moment, I even half-suspected that you were nothing but a vision—perhaps the gods were tricking me, taunting me in my perpetual misery.” His lips twitched. “They say Sheogorath is fond of the Blue Palace, and of Solitude in general, and that he delights in fooling the people who live here. I couldn’t help but wonder if he were doing so then… but then I saw you again, and again… And you were so wonderful, so gentle, so thoughtful… I felt like an oaf around you, bludgeoning my way into your sacred space.”

I shook my head; this was too much. I couldn’t let him speak about me like that. I couldn’t let him speak about _himself_ like that.

“Don’t,” I said. “You’re not… not…”

But I couldn’t get the words out. I squeezed the material of his coat between my fingers while his own fingers stroked my cheek again, even combing gently through my hair.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, “I understand. I make you uncomfortable. Love makes fools out of people, I’m afraid. Only… tell me you feel the same. At least a little, at least enough to give me hope.”

Speaking was beyond me, so all I could do was nod, and blink, for strangely enough I had tears in my eyes, though luckily they didn’t fall. I felt his arms around my waist tighten, and his expression became so warm, so ardent.

“Lovely, beautiful Laurie,” he murmured, and that’s when I realized how close his lips were to mine.

And then he was kissing me again. Except this time it was a true kiss—his mouth lingered against mine, his warmth pressing against my own. I felt his lips part slightly against mine, so I did the same… I didn’t know what I was doing, truth be told. It felt like being swallowed, as though I were somehow melting into him. It brought warmth into my belly—and below. My fingers clenched the fabric of his coat for a different reason, and when I felt his tongue slip inside my mouth to brush ever so slightly against my own, I made a strangled noise that caused my face to immediately bloom bright red.

He laughed, his breath puffing against my lips, and nuzzled his nose against my own. He kissed me again, gentler this time, and I didn’t realize my fingers were running through his hair until he pulled back, and I saw my arms resting around his shoulders.

“I love you,” he said, his amber eyes searching my own. “I realize I’ve already said that, but I can’t seem to help saying it. And Laurie…” He moved to take my hands into his own, his fingers squeezing around mine. “I promise to do everything in my power to ensure your own happiness. I don’t wish for this relationship to ever become a burden for you, but if it should…”

“It won’t,” I interrupted. “I _want_ to be with you. No matter what.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “I promise.”

He nodded and squeezed my hands again, saying nothing at first, for I think he knew how hard it was for me to say that. He was always so patient with me, always waiting for me to try and finish my thoughts, to wrangle the words on the tip of my tongue so that they would finally listen to what my heart wanted them to say.

“I’ve been such a fool. I should have been doing everything in my power to spend time with you. Instead I’ve blamed my duties for my negligence, when in truth I suspect my own fears and insecurities have done more to keep us apart than anything else. But I’m going to change that. I’m going to make more of an effort to see you—

“You shouldn’t say that,” I finally managed, for it distressed me to hear him speak so disparagingly of himself. “You _have_ been busy, but I don’t resent that. And… the moot won’t last forever. And I…” I took a deep breath, thinking about what Alain had teased me about earlier. “…I’m not going anywhere.”

The joy this admission appeared to bring him almost made me feel guilty. If I’d known that committing to this relationship—to _him_ —would bring him so much happiness and so much relief, I would have done it much sooner. But the truth was, I was in uncharted waters. Half the time I was with him, I hadn’t a clue what I was supposed to be doing or saying. I only knew how much I _wanted_ to be with him, how much I truly liked him—how much I loved him.

“Still…” he murmured, one hand stroking through my hair now. “I maintain my promise. I’ll make more of an effort to come and see you. And I want you to feel you can come and see _me_ whenever you like. You must come to the rooftop garden to play and write, too. I truly mean that.”

I nodded, and couldn’t help smiling, too, for it was a lovely thought. Now that I felt more comfortable around him, I knew I’d enjoy sequestering myself in his garden for hours to play or write. In truth, I was looking forward to it.

I was looking forward to meeting him there, too—alone. My mind couldn’t quite take us beyond kissing just yet; I’m not certain my heart could handle it. But for now, kissing was enough. And so he kissed me again, even more passionately than the first time. I felt more confident now, but I liked letting him take the lead… I liked to follow his lips with my own, to sigh and tilt my head back so he could lavish my jaw and my neck with attention. I couldn’t believe that no one had interrupted us—but then, I suppose if someone had come to find us (or, more likely, him) they would have taken one look at the two of us and promptly decided against interrupting us.

But we didn’t just kiss. We talked, too. He told me of the hours he’d spent in his office thinking about me, convincing himself that he was wrong to believe I could ever care for him. This made me laugh, and roll my eyes, and tell him he was being silly for my benefit—how could someone like him ever doubt himself over someone like me? _Easily_ , he replied. _I’d never seen such beauty, never dreamed of such sweetness. How could I ever imagine myself worthy of your affections?_

I might have once accused him of trying to make me blush, for he did like to tease me. But I knew now that he was honest about his feelings towards me, that he truly did think I was… I don’t know. More than I was, certainly, but there was something truly breathtaking, knowing he saw me that way.

Of course, after our mutual confessions, we talked of other matters, too. He admitted how tired he was, how much this moot was taking out of him—how much he relied upon Soren, and lately, surprisingly, Casien. Casien was very good, he explained, at setting up events like this one. He had helped with the invitations, and with the seating, as well. He’d even made suggestions about the music and the food.

It made me anxious, in a way, for I couldn’t help comparing myself to him. Casien seemed like the ideal jarl’s husband, even more so than Jon. He was confident and intelligent, yet he didn’t overshadow his spouse. Instead, he supported him, and—not that I’d ever say as much in front of Ulfric himself—even _controlled_ him, in many ways. He was greatly respected and adored by his husband, who clearly trusted him utterly and treated him as his equal.

I knew Falk trusted me, respected me, certainly treated me as his equal. But I couldn’t do this—plan dinners, hold meetings, soothe the hurt feelings of important people. I didn’t know what that meant for our relationship. I was certain Falk wouldn’t expect me to do things I couldn’t, but…

Always, I found my thoughts returning to Lady Bryling. How she’d left him because she couldn’t see herself as the spouse of a jarl.

One day, I thought, as we both gazed out at the celebrating city below, I would have the courage to ask him: _must_ he marry? Could we not just be together?

After a while, I told him, too, about last night—about King Alain, and what Rin had told us. He was very quiet and very serious, his brow furrowing as he listened.

“…Was I right to tell you?” I finally asked, for he remained quietly preoccupied even after I’d finished speaking.

He took my hand, smiled, cupped my cheek, and kissed me.

“If you feel it was the right thing to do, then so it was,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel as if you owe me information of that sort—but I’m grateful that you shared it with me, yes.” But then he frowned. “Unfortunately, I’m not certain I can really do much about it. The negotiations are already underway, and as I am not high king, I have no part in them.”

“I’m fairly certain Casien told Ulfric,” I said. “He said they don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“I can believe it. They’ve been through… well, quite a lot together. If that’s the case, then Ulfric will simply have to do with it what he will… as I’m _sure_ he will. I will say, however, that from what I’ve learned of King Alain, it surprises me very little that he would try something like that.”

“…Why?” I asked, for the king had seemed a friendly enough man to me, at least.

“He is, without question, an exceedingly cautious person. And I believe the weight of his responsibilities weigh very heavily on his shoulders. He’s young, and has already made decisions that have displeased some in his court—namely, his marriage and his offer of friendship to Queen Elora.”

I blinked. “You mean… people objected to his marrying Rin? But… why?”

He gave me his usual fond smile, but it was tinged with sadness now, as though he were reluctant to tell me the truth.

“Human and mer relationships are not always accepted, I’m afraid—certainly not among royalty. Casien, I believe, experienced it firsthand when he married Ulfric. Yet I have heard that it was news of the success of their marriage which inspired Alain and Rin to do the same. And… quite frankly, I believe the benefits of that success extend to our own relationship, as well. Of course, the fact that none of these unions can produce children likely makes them more palatable to those who would otherwise object.”

“…People… _have_ made comments,” I finally said, after I’d managed to digest this. “I wasn’t always sure what they meant. I just thought…”

“Their comments are meaningless,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Bigotry serves no purpose but to divide and belittle a people.” He paused, as though considering whether or not to go on. “You say you do not know your own origins. It’s entirely possible that your birth mother faced terrible discrimination, once she realized that you didn’t fully resemble her own race.”

And so there it was. That which had made me a curiosity, an anomaly for most of my life, may have also been the reason I would never know my birth parents. Yet this had never bothered me before, and it certainly didn’t bother me now—though I supposed I could feel pity for the woman who’d given birth to me—had she truly wanted to keep me, but realized she couldn’t?

One thing was for certain: my difference hadn’t bothered my mothers one bit. _We knew you were ours the second we laid eyes on you_ , they liked to tell me. And I believed them.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled us both from our mutual reveries. We turned, and there was Casien, standing only a few feet away, his hands clasped before him, a sheepish smile on his round face.

“It’s time,” he said, clearly speaking to Falk after first glancing at me.

“…Of course,” said Falk, releasing my hand. “I’d almost forgotten.”

“If you like,” said Casien quickly, before he could do or say more, “Ulfric and I can do it. The Bretons can help. I think they’d like that.”

“They do seem rather curious about our customs and cultures,” agreed Falk, smiling.

“Well, so was I, when I first got here. Nords are a strange people, aren’t they, Laurie?”

“He’s teasing you,” said Falk, putting an arm around my waist and hugging me close.

“…Oh,” I said, blinking.

Casien laughed his bright, musical, little laugh before turning to leave us. I still had no idea what they’d been talking about, but I didn’t have to wait very long.

Word must have spread quickly, because soon the rest of the dance hall’s occupants made their way out onto the balcony. Falk kept his arm wound tightly around me, and I let myself press against his solid form. I didn’t mind the sudden crowd so much, but it still made me feel better to have him beside me.

Chairs must have been brought out, because soon Casien popped up again above the rest of the crowd, his hand on his husband’s shoulder to steady himself. Queen Elora and King Alain soon joined him, all three facing the crowd.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us tonight,” said Casien. “Jarl Falk is busy wooing my friend, so I guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”

I turned my hot, horrified face into my lover’s chest, which was now shaking with suppressed laughter—though I felt certain he was blushing just as hard as I was now.

After the laughter of the others died down again, Casien continued:

“Queen Elora, King Alain, we’re so happy you’re here to celebrate Second Planting with us. In Skyrim, Second Planting is about hope. Farmers plant their seeds in the ground, and we plant hope in our hearts—hope for the future, hope for success, for happiness, for peace. In Solitude, we… oh, I forgot to get the lanterns.”

Another ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. Soon enough, however, three lanterns were removed from the wall and handed to Casien, Elora, and Alain.

“In Solitude,” Casien continued, “we write our hopes down and place them in these lanterns. The lanterns carry our hopes and dreams to the sky and to the gods.”

He handed the lantern down to his husband, then got momentarily down from the chair. Alain and Elora followed suit.

“They’re writing down their wishes for the future,” Falk murmured into my ear. “Shall we do the same?”

Inside each lantern were several thin strips of paper, along with a little pencil. I couldn’t think what to write on mine at first—should I wish for success in my writing or my music? The health of my parents and of our farm? These were things I generally allowed myself to wish for, I suppose because I felt they were what I _ought_ to wish for. But then I looked at the man beside me, his head bent towards his task as he wrote, unaware of my regard… he was so beautiful, so much so that it made my stomach clench and my heart ache, for what were the chances that someone like me could truly ever be happy with someone like him?

_Let him love me always._

I felt foolish as soon as I wrote the words down, but there was no way to erase them. Instead, I hastily folded the strip of paper in half and handed it to Falk. He placed them carefully inside the paper lantern, then reached for one of the thin reeds. This he—and others, for we were not the only ones doing so now—lit from one of the nearby outdoor braziers.

“Everyone ready?” asked Casien, who was standing on his chair again.

The reeds were then used to light the wicks within each lantern. Falk and I held ours up together, then, along with everyone else, released it into the sky. I watched as it rose up, up, and up, mingling with the other lanterns and floating serenely towards the city. From below and afar I could hear cheering—it was the people of Solitude, who must have been waiting for the lanterns to be released from the Blue Palace. Then, from all over, I saw more lanterns being lit, all floating up into the air, until the night sky was filled with them.

“It’s a beautiful sight,” said Falk, his arm around my waist again.

I realized I’d been staring up at the sky, my mouth half-open. I closed it quickly, a little embarrassed, and nodded.

“What did you wish for?” he asked.

I turned to look at him—the light from the lanterns were reflected in his eyes, mimicking the freckles on his face. I placed my palm on his cheek, my thumb stroking softly over his beard. Then I leaned in and kissed him.

I could tell I had surprised him, for his lips were soft against my own at first. But he quickly returned the kiss, and I felt his fingers stroking through my hair, his hand on my waist pulling me closer.

He chuckled afterward, our faces still close enough for our noses to brush against one another.

“Me, too,” he murmured, and it took me a moment to realize what he was saying. When I did, I simply wrapped my arms around him, closed my eyes, and hugged him as tightly as I could. I wasn’t entirely sure that I believed him—surely a jarl had other things to wish for than a successful relationship with someone he was only just getting to know—but it was wonderful to pretend that he really had, just for a little while.

He asked me then if I was tired, and I had to admit that I was—it was surely well past nine o’clock now, perhaps past ten, and I’d had an awful lot of wine. As host, he naturally had to stay, at least until all of the guests were gone, and he suspected the drinking and dancing could last well into midnight. Luckily, he was able to hand me off to Jon, who was clearly tired of being pursued by noblewomen (and even a few men) eager for a scandal.

“I’m sure I can walk to my room by myself,” I said, for it made me feel silly to be essentially assigned an escort, as if I didn’t know the way back.

“Indulge me,” said my lover, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I would walk you myself, but…”

“Come on, Laurie,” quipped Jon. “Don’t deprive me of actually feeling useful for once.”

“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes, though I couldn’t help smiling, as well.

“Then I suppose this is goodnight,” said Falk, taking my hand in his. “Thank you for agreeing to be my date tonight. Perhaps in the future we might aim for something a little more… private.”

“Or at least the chance to dance with you more than once,” I said, and he laughed.

We gazed at one another for a probably embarrassingly long time before he eventually leaned in and kissed me. It was a gentle, lingering kiss—long enough to make me ache for more, but not so long as to bring attention to us both.

“…Goodnight,” he said, his hand now lightly curled around my neck.

“Goodnight,” I replied, and it was everything I could do not to kiss him again.

Eventually, his hand lowered, and he smiled and stepped back. I smiled as well, lowered my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to go.

“Well,” said Jon, as he began to walk alongside me. “Seems you two moved things forward a bit.”

“…A bit,” I agreed, my smile turning sheepish.

“And judging by the way you’re biting your lip and about to walk into that potted plant, that definitely wasn’t your first kiss tonight.”

I blinked and narrowly avoided the plant, then shot him an exasperated look. But he was, after all, my friend, and probably the greatest cheerleader for my relationship with Falk, so I supposed I owed it to him to tell him everything. I admitted not only that we had kissed—though I didn’t quite expand upon how much—but I also said that Falk had told me he loved me. Jon’s reaction was predictably over the top. He whooped and slung an arm around my shoulders, crushing me against him as we walked before then patting me vigorously on the arm.

“Ow,” I said, frowning and rubbing my arm. “I think you’re more excited than I am.”

“Highly doubt that,” he said, and the truth was… he was right. Tonight had probably been the happiest night of my life. I hadn’t once envisioned that it would truly go the way it had gone—I had thought, _hoped_ , that we might get to dance together. I never dreamed that he would finally kiss me—and how! And to think that we might kiss like that again, and that perhaps next time we would be alone—I was very much in danger of walking into more plants if I let myself follow _that_ line of thought.

Back in my room, I bid Jon goodnight before going to make my tea. I took a quick bath while the water boiled, then sat on my windowsill and sipped it while gazing out at the night sky. The gods had been extraordinarily good to me here in Solitude. It wasn’t too long ago that I was sitting alone outside the city, wallowing in failure, and bawling my eyes out over my hopeless situation.

But that was when I’d met _him_ , too.

I didn’t want to place all my happiness in the love of another man. I knew my mothers had raised me to be independent, to rely on myself when necessary. But… they also sometimes chastised me for being too solitary… _too_ independent.

It had been my idea to come here, to Solitude, and once I’d made that decision, I refused to be dissuaded. My parents supported me, but I could tell they were concerned. My health, my shyness, my inexperience… these were all marks against me. But how was I to succeed in life if I stayed under their roof well into adulthood?

Of course, the answer wasn’t to run from one roof to another. Yet that wasn’t what I was seeking. It wasn’t security I lacked, or self-confidence (though I could admit that that was still a work-in-progress).

What I wanted… what I’d wanted my _whole life_ , even as a boy… was love. And I didn’t know I’d been searching for it until I’d finally found it.

No, I thought, as I sipped the last of my tea and gazed at the dark shadows of roses beyond my window. It wasn’t wrong to want to be loved. I had been dreaming of romance for so long that it didn’t quite feel real, now that it had found me. But I wasn’t going to belittle those feelings. My desires weren’t less important because they didn’t involve ambition or intellect or self-improvement.

And here in the Blue Palace, I was surrounded by it. Casien and Ulfric, Rin and Alain, Jon and his wife… and now, Falk and myself. _I’m in love with you_ , he’d said. With _me_.

It was something I was just going to have to work at accepting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Laurie doesn't make note of it, the monarchs are all wearing their crowns: Ulfric, Casien, Elora, Poppy, Alain, though Rin isn't wearing anything because he's Rin. It's possible Laurie is just too overwhelmed to notice such things; I tried to insert more of a description of the various people, but he just wouldn't let me. Some of the jarls are also wearing crowns, though Falk isn't.
> 
> Additionally, Laurie was meant to light the candles he bought that morning with Karita and set them on the windowsill before going to bed. He does do it; I just couldn't fit it in 😂
> 
> I know authors aren't supposed to admit stuff like this, but I guess I'm just in a "the more you know" mood 😋


	23. Chapter 23

My melancholy thoughts on love and romance from the previous night felt almost silly the next morning. I awoke in the best of moods, and occasionally couldn’t even stop from bouncing on the balls of my feet as I dressed and tied my hair back into a ponytail. I had a smile on my face as I ate my breakfast: boiled eggs, toast and jam, bacon, and the most delectable juniper berry scone. Afterward, I couldn’t help looking at my neat little room, the scent of roses wafting in from the window, and feeling as though I were the luckiest person alive.

Luckiest person on Nirn or not, I needed to do some writing—though it was mostly editing these days. Today might be Second Planting, but tomorrow was still Morndas, and I wasn’t about to start disappointing Mr. gro-Dulab by turning my current chapter in late. I needed to pare down the word count, and there were a few passages I wanted to clean up, too. After all, I’d written it years ago, and I liked to think that my writing had improved at least a little bit since then. Plus, I think I’d said that Francesca had brown eyes when they were now most definitively green.

I gathered my manuscript and slipped it into my leather satchel before slinging it over my shoulder. I thought about going to the rooftop garden—my heartbeat quickened at the thought, and little butterflies began to flit pleasantly in my stomach—but that was probably exactly why I shouldn’t. I needed to concentrate, not daydream about the man I was deeply in love with. Besides, if he happened to show up, the last thing I’d want to do was work on my writing.

To that end, I decided to make my way towards some of the westernmost gardens. This was where Karita and I had been playing the other day, but I continued walking past even the large tree we’d been sitting under. The last thing I wanted to do was run into more wandering nobles. Besides, I was a little curious to see just how far the gardens stretched—presumably, I would eventually run into the immense stone wall that surrounded the entire property.

It was a hot day, and I began to feel sweat dampening my skin. The path before me finally appeared to end, albeit amidst a large, overgrown copse of trees that appeared to hide the stone wall. There was a little pond nearby, a pretty little stone bench facing it, right under a lovely tree whose flower-bearing branches hung low, offering it nearly perpetual shade. It was the perfect place to sit down and begin my work.

Only it was occupied.

The figure on the bench was small and familiar. His round face was turned down, away from me, and his hands rested on his thighs. There was something about seeing him sitting on a bench, alone, surrounded by nothing but trees and hedges, that made me really reflect on his heritage for the first time, for there weren’t many Dunmer in Solitude, let alone the Blue Palace. Yet he never gave any indication of feeling out of place.

I meant to say ‘hello’ as I approached, so as not to startle him. But he looked up suddenly, his eyes widening as they met mine. Then he hastily reached up and rubbed them with both hands, sniffing and sitting up a bit.

_Oh_ , I thought, suddenly awkward, for it was obvious now that he’d been crying.

“Did you come out here to write?” he asked, smiling a little.

I paused, my right hand squeezing the handle of my leather satchel.

“…I can go somewhere else if—

“No!” he said quickly. “You don’t have to go!”

And as he obligingly moved aside on the bench—even though there was already room enough for me to sit—I could hardly turn away from him after that, so, after a moment, I sat down.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked.

He was giving me a playful look, but I could tell that deep down his heart wasn’t really in it. But I wasn’t sure what else to do.

I looked at him, my teeth worrying my lower lip into my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his face somewhat crumbled again. He sniffed and looked down, rubbing once more at his eyes and nose. “I thought I wanted to be alone, but I guess I don’t.”

“What happened?” I finally asked, even as all sorts of horrible things forced their way into the forefront of my mind—perhaps a rift with his husband, or something terrible to do with the moot.

“It’s Ulfric,” he said, and my heart gave a horrified little stutter. “He had a nightmare last night.”

I blinked—that wasn’t quite what I’d been expecting.

“…A nightmare?”

He nodded.

“He started having them after we returned from High Rock last year. You know, after the… incident… I told you about the other night, with Rin.”

I knew what he was referring to, of course—it would have been hard to forget such a tale, and it was now supposedly all wrapped up in King Alain’s horrible misstep.

“The Thalmor, they… they did terrible things to him. To his mind. They made him think everyone he loved was dead. They made him think _I_ was dead. He didn’t even know me when I rescued him, and not for a long time afterward, too, and then he almost…” He trailed off, swallowed, and took a long, shuddering breath. “It was hard on him. When we broke the spell, he didn’t trust himself around me. It was a long time before we—before things were back to normal.”

He was silent for a moment, his hands reflexively squeezing the material of his trousers.

“The thing is…” he continued, after another deep breath. “…I just _know_ Rin isn’t telling us something. I don’t think he’s holding back out of malice. I just think he doesn’t want to implicate Alain further.”

“…Did you tell him?” I asked. “Your husband… about what Rin told us.”

“I did. But he doesn’t think there’s anything we can really do about it. He’s assigned a guard to me, but beyond that, he says there’s nothing more to be done. But a guard—I mean, they’ve been thwarted before. Back in Whiterun, I was kidnapped, and the guard couldn’t do a thing because they used magic. And the Thalmor used magic to kidnap and torture Ulfric.”

I stared at him, silently amazed as always that he could speak about the atrocities he’d suffered with such seeming nonchalance. I supposed it said something about the trauma he and his husband had experienced in High Rock if it actually left Ulfric Stormcloak with nightmares and his husband in tears.

A little smile finally crept back onto his face when he must have noticed me trying to unobtrusively glance around the little glade.

“He’s standing near that tree over there,” he said, nodding. “They’re really good at staying out of sight.”

I started and, sure enough—there was a guard standing nearby, arms crossed over his armored chest. He saw us looking and gave a respectful nod.

“…So… you and Ulfric both think something bad could still happen,” I said after a moment.

He nodded.

“I told Ulfric I thought Rin wasn’t telling me the whole truth, and he agrees. But he thinks it’s something to do with their relationship, something he doesn’t want to admit to me.” He shook his head, frowning. “I don’t think that’s the case. _I_ think it’s related to that awful plan Alain tried to put into place behind Rin’s back. Something he isn’t sharing with us, something he doesn’t think is important, but—I don’t know.”

He sighed, sitting back against the bench.

“That’s the thing: _I don’t know_. I don’t know a damned thing, and it’s driving me crazy. And last night, the nightmare…” His eyes seemed to fill with tears again, and he swallowed and blinked. “If something happens to me, he won’t be able to handle it. I know it. It would break him. It would _kill_ him.”

He fell silent again, and I watched anxiously as he appeared to struggle vainly with his emotions. I wanted to say something, to offer him some manner of comfort, but I wasn’t sure what or how.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while. “I know I’m making you uncomfortable. I don’t mean to place all of this on you.”

“You’re not,” I said, the words tumbling out of me before I could stop them. “I want to help. I just…”

H waited for me to finish, patient as always—he and Falk were both the same, never rushing me when I couldn’t quite get the words out.

“…You just don’t know how,” he finally concluded for me, and I nodded. He smiled, the expression so surprisingly warm it made me want to wipe the tears from his eyes and pull him into a hug, but of course I’d never have been so bold—especially with someone I didn’t know as well as I should like.

“You’re doing enough,” he said, “just sitting here and listening to me ramble. How are you and Falk? Did you tell him about… all of this?”

I nodded.

“He said he would let Ulfric handle it. He thought it was… it wasn’t his place to act.”

“That sounds like him. I get the impression he isn’t very fond of conflict. I suppose that makes sense, considering his past actions. Supporting the Empire,” he clarified, when I must have given him a confused look. “Though knowing Falk, it was more about supporting Elisif than anything else.” He gave me a thoughtful smile. “Has he introduced you to her yet?”

“No,” I said, and I didn’t want to admit that it rather stung that he hadn’t.

“Don’t worry,” he said, laughing a little. “He’s probably just been too busy. I’m sure you’ll meet her eventually. You’ll like her. And I _know_ she’ll like you.”

He was far more certain of that than I was. After all, Falk had said Elisif and I were very near the same age. How would she feel about the man she viewed as a father being with someone nearly half his age? Would she think I was only with him because of who and what he was? And how could she possibly resist comparing me to Lady Bryling?

“Well, I should leave you to your writing,” said Casien, shaking me from my thoughts.

“…Oh,” I said, feeling momentarily guilty, for I’d briefly pushed aside his own awful dilemma to dwell on my own. “No, you don’t…

“It’s fine,” he said, getting to his feet with a smile. “I only told Ulfric I was going to the library. He’ll be wondering where I am.”

He waved, and I waved awkwardly back before watching as he turned and began to head back towards the palace. I wanted to ask him if he was all right, but somehow… I couldn’t. I supposed I already knew the answer. 

I can’t say I got very much writing done that morning. My thoughts constantly found their way back to Casien, sitting out here alone on this bench so he could quietly weep over his husband’s suffering. I hated to think what they had gone through together. Yet this was the life of a jarl and his spouse. It was so much more than fine, luxurious rooms; elegant gardens; and fancy dinners. It was long, endless meetings; careful negotiations with other heads of state; and, apparently, adventures in foreign lands that left one or both of you traumatized for life. It was danger, fear, loss—kidnapping and assassination and mind control.

It was nothing like what I liked to write about Francesca and her prince, or Francis and his guard captain. My stories felt silly now. I couldn’t help feeling half-astonished that _The Red Rose_ wanted anything to do with them at all.

One thing was for certain, though. The life of a jarl and his spouse?

I’d never wanted less to do with it than I did just then.

Eventually, it was nearing lunchtime, and I hadn’t brought anything to eat. As I wasn’t exactly making much progress anyway, sitting out here and contemplating the perils of royal matrimony, I decided it was time to head back. The sound of songbirds and the wind rushing gently through the treetops seemed to mock my melancholy as I began to make my way back down the path. The sun was bright overhead—it had been a hot morning and would be an even hotter day. I sighed as I stepped over a little stone bridge, my hand absently trailing along the railing. I couldn’t help wondering what _he_ was doing right now. It was Second Planting, after all. Presumably, he would have some sort of duty to perform, some event to oversee. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad or disappointed that I clearly wasn’t to be involved.

“Good morning…!”

I started and came to a sudden stop after rounding a little curve in the path.

“Whoops,” said another familiar voice, as I gawked at the amused face of my handsome lover. “Looks like we startled the words out of him again.”

I shot Jon an irritated look, but he only grinned.

“Casien told us where we might find you,” said Falk, still smiling as he gazed at me. “We have… something we’d like to discuss with you.”

“Don’t panic,” said Jon. “It’s nothing bad, trust us.”

“…I’m not panicking,” I said, though I was glad they couldn’t hear how fast my heart was pounding now. What could the two of them _together_ possibly want with me?

“Perhaps we might sit first,” said Falk. “There’s a bench not far from here, I think.”

He offered me his hand, so of course I took it. It was hard not to blush, for being so near him, touching him—how could I not think about last night, and everything that had happened between us?

I caught Jon smirking and resisted the urge to smack him.

“Did you get any writing done?” asked my lover, as he led me through the trees, occasionally having to push a low-hanging branch or two out of our way.

“…A little,” I said.

I didn’t want to reveal what Casien had shared with me—it was clearly too personal. But I thought maybe we should revisit the topic of King Alain’s aborted attempt to garner sympathy from the jarls. For some reason, I found myself trusting Casien’s instincts, and if _he_ thought there was more to what Rin was telling us…

“There we are,” said Falk.

There was the bench, made of stone and partially overgrown with moss. It sat at the far end of a very small clearing amidst the copse we’d been walking through. I was surprised to see flowers blooming in the surrounding bushes and even from the branches of the trees, for very little sunlight managed to leak through the tress’ branches. It was an exceptionally secluded spot, and I probably could have walked past it a hundred times without ever knowing it was there.

“Well,” said Jon, looking around him, “Now I feel like even more of a third wheel.”

Falk chuckled but said nothing, only gesturing to the bench before us and waiting until I sat before sitting down beside me. Jon remained standing.

“Laurie,” he said, putting his hands on hips, a serious look coming to his face, “I’m letting you go.”

“…What?!” I said, blinking.

“That isn’t _quite_ how we discussed it,” said Falk dryly.

Jon just laughed.

“As my note-taker,” he continued, still looking at me. “The truth is I no longer need one. And let’s be honest: you hate the job. You hate being in that room with all those pretentious old nobs, and you turn tail and run the second you’re allowed to.”

“But…” I could feel my chest rising and falling with greater and greater rapidity. “What… What am I to…?”

“Laurie!” said Falk, reaching for both of my hands and squeezing them in his. “Ignore Jon. I’m beginning to regret asking him to come with me.”

“But he said—

“I know what he said. Ignore him. He only means to tease you; see how upset he looks now? He realizes what a thoughtless fool he’s being.”

“Well I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” muttered Jon. He finally sat down beside me on the bench, on the opposite side as Falk. “Come on, Laurie, please. Calm down. Falk’s right; I was just trying to see how you’d react. I should have known better.”

“You really should have,” said Falk, giving him a look.

Jon blushed and cleared his throat.

“Listen… Of _course_ you can continue if you like. But I came to talk to Falk this morning about it. I _know_ you dislike attending the moot. I know you’re really only doing it so you can stay here at the palace. And I didn’t want you to keep feeling as if you had to do something you hated just to stay… well, here. With Falk.”

I blinked, and now I could feel my own face warming.

“…That’s… That’s not…”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “I dangled that free room and board in front of you at the start of all this, partly for selfish reasons, but also because I knew you needed a roof over your head. And now I’m trying to tell you: you don’t have to be my note-taker just to stay here.” A little smile tugged at his lips. “I mean, come on. You’re a little more than a note-taker now.”

I could feel my blush deepening.

“…I don’t want free room and board just… because I’m…”

“I know,” said Falk, squeezing my hands gently. “And I apologize for the way we’re presenting this to you; this was meant to go very differently. Truly, if you wish to be given a task or a job, I can see that it shall be done. You could assist Soren, perhaps, or manage the library, or help the gardener. Anything.”

“But… If I do those things, I can’t… I mean, I told my mothers that I was trying to become a writer. And I’ve already submitted the first few chapters to _The Red Rose_ , and…”

“Your writing…” He sighed. “Of course. How foolish and insensitive of me to forget.”

He paused, then, after a moment, took a deep breath and looked at Jon.

“I think perhaps Laurie and I ought to finish this discussion in private.”

A faint smile tugged at Jon’s lips, and he got to his feet.

“Agreed. And Laurie—I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to upset you. Everything’s going to be okay, all right?” He gave me a warm, friendly pat on the shoulder. “Trust Falk. Okay? The poor idiot would sell the entire city if it would bring a smile to your face.”

“You’re on thin ice as it is, Jon Battle-Born,” said Falk, a flinty expression I’d never seen before coming to his face, but Jon only laughed and gave a playful salute, fist-to-chest, before turning and leaving.

“I fear loneliness has taken its toll on his sanity,” muttered Falk after he left, and I couldn’t help the little laugh that tumbled out of me.

This brought the expected smile to his face, the expression unusually self-effacing. But then he sighed again.

“But I suppose he’s right in some ways. I _am_ an idiot. I should have thought this through before coming to you.” He looked at me, his expression serious again. “My only desire was to relieve you from a duty Jon and I both knew you disliked, while reassuring you that you are in no danger of losing your home here.”

“But… how can I stay if I’m not earning my keep?”

He was silent for a moment, then:

“Laurie,” he continued, his voice faltering slightly, “do you wish to stay here, in the palace?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitating.

“Then… would you consider your room to be a gift? From me?”

_A gift._ I didn’t think it was the usual sort of gift people gave one another: a room in a palace. But I supposed if the giver were a king, and the recipient his lover…

Still…

“…I’m not sure,” I finally said.

I felt awful. He was trying to do this wonderful thing for me, but I—I don’t know. Something about it just felt _wrong_. But I couldn’t tell him that. Not when he was trying so hard to make me happy.

“Come,” he said gently, lowering his head a little so our eyes could meet, for I had lowered my own—in shame, I suppose. “Let me be selfish. It would be a great comfort to me, knowing you are safe and happy.”

“And close by,” I said, teasing, before I could stop myself.

His eyes widened, and I expected him to blush, but he didn’t. Instead, he laughed, then ducked his head for a moment before meeting my eyes again.

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “And close by.”

Then he kissed me. I was still hesitant, unsure—I loved being kissed by him; it made my heart ache in the pleasantest way; it ignited a warmth within me that made me long to do _more_ —but I was still new at it. Yet he didn’t seem to mind my inexperience. His lips moved purposefully against my own, and this time, when his tongue slipped inside my mouth, he didn’t stop when that little agonized sound of pleasure escaped me. Only when I was clinging to him, half-supported by him, did he finally allow us to come up for air.

I was breathing heavily when we separated, my eyes half-lidded as I gazed into his.

“You see,” he said, smiling. “If you lived in the city, I would have to walk all across town to do that. It would be very inconvenient.”

My eyes widened, and I could barely manage to smack him on the shoulder, and even then it lacked the full force of my feigned indignation. He laughed—which I always enjoyed—then reached up to stroke my cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Take some time to think it over,” he suggested. “If you feel uncomfortable by my proposal, then we can think of other ways to keep you fed and housed.” He winked. “Just keep in mind the extra benefits that come with being located in close proximity to me.”

“…You’re a bad man!” I said, laughing, and he grinned, rather rakishly—it was not an unattractive look.

But then I sobered, and nodded.

“All right. I’ll think about it. I _want_ to stay, I just… I don’t know. I love my room. I love it _here._ ” I sighed, gazing out now at the little clearing that sheltered us. “I don’t want to ever leave.”

My answer seemed to satisfy him, for he beamed at me, happiness bringing a pleasant flush to his cheeks.

“That’s all I can really ask for,” he said. “Now…” He stood up suddenly and offered me his hand, which I naturally took. “Today is a holiday, is it not? We should be celebrating.”

“…Celebrating how?” I asked, as I stood up beside him.

“Well, I thought we might make our way through the city, see what Solitude has to offer us. There are bound to be no shortage of events planned—dances, performances, eating contests. I could prove to you how quickly I can put away a jazbay pie.”

“I’m not sure that’s something I really need to know,” I said, trying not to laugh again as he began to lead me back through the copse and towards the main path.

“True enough. We could have our faces painted then. What would you like? I think I could go for a rainbow or perhaps a kitten.”

As I could tell he was trying _very hard_ to make me laugh, I finally succumbed, leaning against him slightly as I did. But he was serious about going into the city.

“…Don’t you have things to do?” I asked. “Jarl’s business, or… the moot…?”

“No. Or perhaps I simply _pretend_ that I don’t, for I would much rather spend the day with you.” He beamed at me again, the sunlight now reflecting in his amber eyes. “And so I shall.”

The declaration made me feel as if I were walking on air instead of grass and stone. I couldn’t imagine anyone being willing to throw off a day’s work just for the chance to spend time with _me_ , but here he was, doing just that. We returned briefly to my room, so I could deposit my leather satchel, though as usual, I made sure to slip a couple of tea sachets into my pocket, just in case. I asked if he thought I were dressed properly, and he said that so long as I was comfortable and cool, I should be all right. To that end, he removed his breast coat and rolled up his sleeves before taking my hand again. I tried not to stare at the dark red hair on his arms, or to imagine how it most likely mirrored the hair on his chest or belly or—I must have blushed, for he smiled a mischievous smile and kissed the hand in his before leading us back out of the palace.

People naturally stared at us. Servants looked up then looked hastily away, hiding their smiles in their clean linen or stacks of firewood. The well-to-do people stared openly, some in apparent approval, others in—well, I could only guess _jealousy_ , if my last conversation with the group of local nobles in the garden had been anything to judge by. I was glad to leave the palace, and then the palace grounds, for I didn’t like to be so constantly reminded that I held in my hand the hand of a king, and all that came with it. I was in love with a man—not his rank or the privileges that came with it, though I wasn’t so selfish or foolish as to pretend neither of those existed.

We couldn’t completely escape who and what he was, either, not even when we left the palace. I suppose being around Casien had made me wise to such things, but I was aware of the guards who followed us at a discreet distance, and how every guard we passed was clearly aware of who we were (or at least who _he_ was). I wondered if there had even been guards following him the first time we met—and I simply too ignorant and naïve to notice them.

But in the city proper, we could enjoy the illusion of getting lost in the crowds. He bought us lunch from one of the many kiosks, then dessert afterward—a pair of honey-drenched sweet rolls, and after _that_ —a beer-tasting. He asked if I’d like to head towards the college and listen to one of the performances, and I said that I did. I might have felt embarrassment or apprehension at one point in time, but those feelings had long since left me. I recalled a conversation I’d had with Jon, long ago, about how each of us had found his way through the world. The college had been the right choice for him, but for me it was not, and I was at peace with that. I had my writing, and I still had my lute, and I could take pleasure in a good performance, regardless of who was performing it.

We watched a play put on by a traveling troupe of actors, and danced a jig in the middle of the street with a hundred other dancers. We sat down afterward and had cream ices, and he teased me with kisses, cold lips against my cheek and on my ear and on my neck.

Many people recognized him, but some clearly didn’t. Of course, all it took was for one shopkeeper to cry out ‘Jarl Falk!’ in happy astonishment, and the entire crowd would turn and gawk at us. He would smile and nod at them all, some of them even bowing, some wishing to talk to him—one woman even shouted above the rest: _Who’s that with you, my lord? Your new lover?_

“Ready to escape yet?” he murmured into my ear, and I would have shivered at the pleasant sensation of his lips so close to my skin—if I weren’t in such eager agreement. I nodded quickly, and he smiled and led me towards the nearest guard tower, one that was connected with the old imperial fortress, though now I believe the Solitude guards garrison there.

Up the stone steps we went, hand in hand, having to pass a pair of guards first, both of whom nodded and saluted as we did. The crowd couldn’t follow us here, and I supposed that was the idea. We made it up to the top of the tower, then out we stepped again into bright sunlight. He led me past another saluting guard, then over to the edge of the parapet, where we could look down on the city below us.

I leaned against the side of the wall and took a deep, calming breath. It was strange though—the press of the crowd had been stifling, and I didn’t like how many eyes I could feel constantly trained in my direction—yet my heart wasn’t beating any faster than usual, and the breath came as easily to my lungs as it normally did.

“All right?” he asked, for he must have noticed the confusion on my face.

I looked at him, unsure how to explain my thoughts. But then I just smiled.

“Yes,” I said, and I even laughed a little, for I truly _did_ feel all right. And it was a wonderful feeling.

He smiled and put his arm around me, leaning in to kiss me. I kissed him back, resting a hand gently on his chest, the other still on the wall.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, in between peppering my face with more little kisses, until I had to laugh again and push him away, for I could hardly respond under such an onslaught.

“Yes,” I said again, though I supposed it was an obvious enough answer.

He finally stopped, long enough to meet my eyes, a thoughtful look coming to his face.

“And yet you have something on your mind,” he said. “Something that’s been bothering you, perhaps, even before Jon and I found you?”

I wondered how he could see through me so clearly. Yet I had no desire to lie to him. I just wasn’t sure how much I _should_ tell him—certainly, I wouldn’t mention that I had found Casien alone and in tears, or that he’d been weeping over a trauma-induced nightmare his husband had had the night before.

“…I spoke to Casien, earlier today,” I eventually said.

“So I heard. It was how I knew where to find you.”

“Oh,” I said, remembering. “Yes… He was… upset. _Concerned_ …”

He waited for me to continue, though when I didn’t—

“About…?” he prompted gently.

I bit my lip.

“…He believes… He’s _worried_ that there’s more to what Rin told us. And he thinks… well, he thinks we could all be in serious danger.”

“Does he,” he said, his voice soft.

He was silent for a moment. Whatever it was he’d been expecting me to confess to, it certainly wasn’t this. Then he seemed to inhale, his gaze moving past me to the crowd below us as though absently scanning it.

“And did he share these concerns with his husband?”

I nodded.

“But Ulfric doesn’t share them. Or… he thinks whatever Rin’s hiding, it’s not related to whatever potential threat may be out there.”

“Ulfric Stormcloak is a wise man. More importantly, he loves Casien with every fiber of his being—every last breath in his body.” He turned to face me again. “If he suspected there were even the tiniest possibility that Casien could be in any danger, he would not hesitate to act.”

“…So you agree with him,” I said slowly. “You think Casien’s wrong.”

“No, not necessarily. Casien is also no fool. And I believe he and Prince Rininion are very friendly with one another. But…” He frowned and looked down for a moment before shaking his head. “Like Ulfric, I don’t know what else there is to do. I’ve increased the number of guards on duty at the palace. I’ve ordered the guard captain to double patrols throughout the city and to pay particular attention to who and what passes through our gates. She in turn has spoken with the harbormaster, the lighthouse keeper, and anyone else of note. Beyond that—this threat, if it even exists at all, is so nebulous, there is simply little more than I can really do.”

“But Casien tells stories of assassinations!” I said quickly before I could I stop myself. “Of abductions, murder—Thalmor trickery, and evil magic, and—things a simple pair of guards can’t stop! What if—

“Laurie!” he said, seizing me gently by the shoulders, his eyes widening with concern. “Listen to me. No one is going to be assassinated. I promise.”

“How do you know?” I asked, and I was quite upset, for I didn’t wish for him to see my like this, but all my fears had come tumbling out of me at once. “I don’t belong here, not in the middle of all this! My parents are farmers! I don’t belong at court; I don’t know what to do about magic and assassins and…!”

He slipped an arm around me, then, gathering me closer to him, his other hand coming to rest on my cheek.

“Shh,” he murmured, his fingers stroking my skin now, his eyes steadily holding my own. “Just try to breathe, dearest. Can you do that for me? Please?”

That’s when I realized that I _wasn’t_ breathing—that my heart was rattling around in my chest so fast I couldn’t pause to suck the air into my lungs the way I needed to. I looked at him with wide eyes, and he moved his hand from my cheek to my heart. The feel of his large palm resting over my chest seemed to steady me, and when he breathed slowly in, his eyes still holding mine, I did so as well. Together, we breathed—in and out, until I felt the wild, dizzy feeling slowly begin to fade.

“Now,” he continued, his voice warm and soothing, “I’m afraid there’s something you must understand about your friend Casien. He married a very dangerous man. No, this has nothing to do with my own personal feelings about Ulfric. But he is high king. And he obtained that position by beginning a civil war. What I’m trying to tell you is this: Ulfric has many enemies, and he always will. He is the leader of his country. He has made a lot of people, a lot of very important people, very angry. And many of them will not stop until they either enact their revenge—or he prevents them from doing so.”

“…That’s why you all talked of war,” I finally managed. “That first day of the moot.”

He nodded.

“Ulfric believes there will be war. It’s nearly impossible to believe otherwise. Our enemies aren’t exactly going to lie down and allow us to live in peace, not when they believe on an intrinsic level that we exist to serve _them_. But Laurie…”

He took my hands in his now, squeezing them.

“Casien knows all this. Their time together has been shaped by it. It isn’t an easy life they’ve chosen, but they’ve chosen it nonetheless. They’ve chosen one another. But their life—it isn’t mine, and it isn’t yours. It isn’t Jon and Olfina’s, or Thongvar and Tilde’s, or Harrald and—

But he stopped abruptly, his face paling slightly, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d nearly just said.

“…Harrald and Elisif’s,” I finished for him.

He gave me a wry little smile.

“So you know about them.” He sighed. “Casien?”

“And Jon. He seems to think Harrald should marry her.”

“A move that would greatly displease Harrald’s mother, as he very well knows. Yet Jon is, not surprisingly, given to believe that true love conquers all—even in politics.”

“…Doesn’t it?” I asked, and the earnestness I heard in my own voice made me blush.

His expression softened, and, before I could look away in embarrassment, he cupped my cheek again.

“I suppose it can,” he murmured. “If we truly wish it to.”

I remember when the thought of kissing him made me so nervous I could scarcely breathe—when asking Casien for advice about being with the person I was beginning to care for had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Now…

Now I couldn’t help wondering, as I melted against him, my hands curling around his neck and shoulders… when would we do _more_ than kiss? I wanted to feel him, feel the warmth of his skin against my fingertips, feel his own hands gripping me tightly…

This, I realized suddenly, even as I was in the midst of being kissed so passionately, was what Francis felt when his guard captain kissed him. I don’t know why, but I’d always taken great delight in writing Francesca’s exploits. My mothers giggled over her love scenes together, argued with me who she ought to end up with. But Francis… Francis had almost been an afterthought. She should have a brother, I remember thinking, as beautiful as she was, but shyer, less inclined to state his opinion—less inclined to give away his heart.

“Your mind is elsewhere again,” said my lover, as we made our leisurely way back towards the palace several hours later.

I smiled, glancing at him before gazing down at the cobblestone beneath our feet.

“I was just thinking,” I said. “It’s… difficult to explain.”

“Try me,” he said, the warm smile on his face making it impossible to deny him.

I was silent for a while, trying to think how to put my thoughts into words. We entered the palace, the guards bowing before pulling open the double doors that led into the main foyer. Our boots made a quiet, staccato sound against the hard, marble floor.

“All my life,” I began, my voice hesitant, “I’ve wanted to be in love. I dreamed about it… I imagined what it would be like, to be… I don’t know. To really _matter_ to someone.”

I thought he would tease me, but he didn’t. He only smiled again, his hand squeezing my own.

“But…?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know if there is a ‘but.’ I just… I almost feel as if I ought to wake up because this can’t be real. I mean, I _write_ about love. I tell stories about people meeting the person of their dreams and hopefully living happily ever after…”

“…And you aren’t sure that’s really possible,” he finished, after I’d lapsed into thought. I blinked and met his eyes. “To live happily ever.”

“…I don’t know,” I said, looking down at our boots.

The marble floor had transitioned into a soft rug as we began to make our way towards my room. Servants were rolling out dinner trays; they all paused to bow as we walked past. It was a surreal experience, but then, the entire afternoon had been surreal.

Really, my entire relationship thus far had been surreal.

“And that’s why you can’t let yourself accept the room,” he said, as we finally came to a stop before my door. 

His smile seemed sad now, a sort of dwindling hope in his warm, amber eyes. It made me feel awful—I _never_ wanted to be the reason for his being sad.

“…Yes,” I heard myself saying.

He sighed and took both my hands in his now, as seemed to be his wont.

“Oh, Laurie… if only I could make you see how worthy of happiness you truly are.”

He stepped closer towards me, releasing one hand so he could cup my face with his own, thumb stroking my cheek.

“Yes… it’s true that not all relationships end well.” His smile turned a bit wry. “I suppose I’m living proof of that. But… many do. Many people marry, have children… they build a life together, whatever that life may look like. No, none of us truly knows what the future may hold, but that’s no reason to go through life, holding our breath, wary of every _good_ thing that happens to cross our path.”

I was silent for a moment, trying to understand what he was saying. It was also hard to think with him standing so near, his face so close to my own.

“So…” I let my gaze drop towards his lips—felt my breath catch in my throat—watched his lips curl into a soft, knowing smile. “I should accept your gift… because we might live happily ever after?”

He laughed, the sound warm and gentle.

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it. But even if we shouldn’t—you would not be obligated to remain here. Nor would I demand that you leave. I offer my gift, such as it is: this room, a safe and happy place for you to lay your head at night. Make use of it for as long as you may need it—and that’s the only payment I shall ever demand of you. I promise.”

I sighed, for there seemed little point in saying ‘no,’ now. And really… I didn’t truly wish to leave the palace. I would miss the gardens too much, and my room, and my ready access to the library.

And I would miss him.

“All right,” I said. “I accept.”

He smiled, then surprised me by suddenly grabbing me around the waist and spinning me once, making me cry out, laughing, in alarm. When he put me back on my feet, he pulled me close again and kissed me. I kissed him back—and wondered what would happen if I invited him into my room with me.

But, of course, I didn’t.

“Well,” he said, looking breathless and rosy-cheeked after our kiss, “I’m off to dinner. I would invite you to come with me, but I suspect two nights in a row of eating dinner with the most important people in Skyrim and northern High Rock is too much to ask.”

“You suspect correctly,” I said, laughing and hoping I didn’t look as relieved as I felt.

“Then, if you’ll excuse me…”

He kissed my hand, then beamed, the expression almost mischievous, before leaning in to kiss me one last time. It was almost painful to force myself to step away from him, and to finally close the door between us. Then a good five minutes finally passed before I realized he’d left his coat here in my room.

I didn’t do anything so silly as to curl up with it on my bed and bury my nose in the soft, warm fabric. Instead, I hung it up beside my own things, my fingers lingering on the gold brocade that wound around each sleeve, if only because it was so incredibly fine, and I’d never felt its like. Afterward, I ate my dinner and actually wrote a great deal, though I didn’t forget to prepare my manuscript for Mr. gro-Dulab, too. I took a quick bath, then sat down before the fire to let my hair dry and sip my tea. Before long, my eyelids were feeling too heavy to try and keep open, so I set my empty mug aside and slipped into bed.

I made it a good ten minutes or so before eventually getting to my feet, grabbing the coat, and returning to bed.

Was I silly for cuddling another man’s coat and pretending it was the man himself in my arms? Probably.

Did I care?

Not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but kisses and kisses and more kisses!! ❤❤❤❤
> 
> And definitely nothing bad lurking around the corner! Most definitely not!


	24. Chapter 24

The days seemed to blend one into another, like oil on an artist’s canvas. I no longer attended the moot, and so my understanding of what went on there faded more and more the longer it went on. Sometimes Jon would fill me in on what had happened, especially if things got particularly volatile. The western holds, for example, were demanding the right to house standing armies again. Some of the eastern holds didn’t like this, and Ulfric, Jon claimed, was stalling. Jon’s own anxiety was confusing to me at first, until I recalled that Whiterun Hold stood right in the middle of the country—and that he hadn’t a clue what stance his wife would wish him to take.

For my part, hearing about these sorts of political squabbles relieved me in an odd sort of way. For I was able to spend my days however I wished—writing, playing, reading—once I even fell asleep under a tree in the gardens, just as I used to do back home. I woke up a little disoriented, surprised that no one had bothered me, for I hadn’t wandered that far from the palace. Was I no longer interesting to the local nobles—or was it the opposite? The thought of anyone being too nervous to approach me in turn made _me_ nervous, so I did my best to put the thought out of my head.

I went to the rooftop garden sometimes, though only when I most wanted to be alone. Of course, there was one person whose presence I never truly minded, and I suppose that’s why I sometimes found myself there.

And I did meet him there—more than once.

Sometimes, if I were playing, he would just sit and listen. Sometimes he would ask me to sing, and I would oblige him, for I loved to sing, though I still felt uncomfortable doing so in front of other people. Once he sang with me, his surprisingly strong, baritone voice weaving in and around my own.

But, mostly, he would try not to disturb me. If I were writing, he would bring me a cup of tea or a glass of wine and sit beside me, reading or going over paperwork. I would sometimes ask his opinion about whatever it was I was working on, though I always kept my inquiries as vague as possible—the name of a new character, for instance, or something related to the plot, such as whether a person could die from a sword wound many days after the fact.

“I thought you wrote romances,” he said, blinking at me.

“Sometimes bad things have to happen in a story,” I said, though I was helpless to explain how or why—it was just something I’d learned as a storyteller.

“Is that so?” He smiled thoughtfully. “I’ll have to defer to the expert on the matter, then. As to your medical inquiry, I suggest you speak to Healer Errin.”

“But you were a soldier. I thought…”

“That I would know of such things?”

“Well… yes.”

“I was a soldier a long time ago, and fortunately was never seriously injured. I lost friends, yes, but it was always during battle—not afterward. So I’m afraid I know very little about the lingering effects of sword wounds.” He paused, long enough for me to look up from my manuscript again. “ _Speaking_ of wounds—I must confess, the fact that I still have not been permitted to read anything you’ve written has indeed wounded me greatly.”

I smiled and rolled my eyes, initially caught off guard by his faux solemnity. When he then suggested that, as penance, I should offer him a kiss, I readily complied. I didn’t get much writing done again until he left.

We did a lot of that—kissing.

We took a lot of walks together, usually in the gardens, and once we were alone, he would waste little time in kissing me. Sometimes they were light, tender kisses, sprinkled in between our conversation. Sometimes they were deep, passionate kisses that mussed our hair and caused him to have to straighten his clothing afterward before he hurried off to his next appointment. Whatever the case, he was clearly making a concerted effort to spend time with me, and that effort didn’t go unnoticed. I was surprised, in a way—I could accept that he cared for me, that he desired me, even, but that he would rearrange his entire schedule _¸_ just for the chance to be with me? It was… flattering.

It was almost too difficult to accept.

He was forever finding little things for us to do together, even if only for a few minutes, even if he couldn’t leave the palace or be away from his office for too long. Once he took me on a tour of the palace art gallery. I wasn’t particularly interested in art, but it was a change of scenery—it was raining, so I hadn’t had much of a chance to stretch my legs that day.

It was the time between lunch and dinner, which was when most of our happenstance meetings took place, as it seemed to be the best time for him to try and fit me in. I sometimes thought of visiting him after dinner, but I thought, too, it could very well… well, it could lead to _other_ things, things I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready for.

The gallery proved to be a long hallway lined with paintings, mostly portraits, though there were a few landscapes hanging as well. The hallway was deserted, and the lighting was very low, especially with the storm raging outside.

We came to a stop before a large portrait of a young man with blue eyes and a full, brown beard. He was standing with one leg cocked, his arm resting on a mantle. He looked… if not particularly wise or cunning, amiable at the very least, for there were already little lines around the corners of his eyes, as if he were used to smiling a great deal.

“Torygg,” supplied Falk, pausing beside me. He sighed and clasped his hands before him, a thoughtful look on his face as he gazed up at the former high king. “I can’t even imagine what this country would look like if he still lived. What we all would look like.”

I didn’t understand politics. But I understood people, and the bitterness I saw on my lover’s face that afternoon nearly made me shrink from him. He started, saw me looking at him—and immediately the bitter look was replaced with one of chagrin.

“…Will you ever forgive him?” I asked, before he could say anything.

I knew he would know who I was referring to.

“I’m not sure I can,” he admitted. “He broke her heart. And he ended the life of an innocent young man who would have followed him, if he’d only tried to persuade him.”

“…I don’t understand war,” I said after a moment, gazing up at the portrait again. “Why people should rather kill one another than live in peace…”

“That’s because you are too good for this world,” he said, putting his arm around me and hugging me close against him, so that he could kiss the side of my head.

I think I surprised him when I turned in his arms so I could kiss him properly. Nevertheless, his arms tightened around me, and he returned the kiss immediately. I don’t know exactly what it was about that moment in particular—but we soon found ourselves seated on a nearby sofa.

We had never done more than kiss. But somehow I found myself sinking back against the cushions, sighing and arching my neck as his lips ravished me there… and then his hand was under my tunic, and for the first time, I felt his fingers stroking my bare skin.

I was too lost in the moment to be embarrassed by the little sound that escaped me at his touch. In any case, it seemed to encourage him to go further, for his hand slid warmly up my back, even as his lips reclaimed my own, and his body began to settle heavily over mine.

I honestly don’t know how far we would have gotten if we hadn’t heard one of the outer doors opening and closing.

Well, _I_ at least heard it. My lover pretended not to, and I laughed, half-giddy and torn between desire and fear—fear at being seen, that is—and pushed against his chest until he finally stopped kissing me.

“Someone’s coming…!” I hissed, giving him another playful push.

He smiled lazily back at me.

We both turned our heads then at the sound of a throat clearing and gazed up at a very amused looking Soren—upside down, in my case.

“Yes?” said Falk, who still hadn’t removed himself from where he lay on top of me.

“Your three o’clock with Jarl Sorli and Lord Pactur began approximately fifteen minutes ago. I’ve informed them you might be a bit late, but I do believe we’re running out of things to talk about.”

“That does sound unfortunate,” said Falk, who only grinned when I smacked him.

“Might I remind you that any delays will likely cause further delay for your _four_ o’clock, which is with Queen Elora and her sister.”

“I like Queen Elora,” I said, for she’d been awfully kind to me when we’d danced.

“As do I,” agreed Soren. “She teases the jarl _relentlessly_ about you.”

“Divines,” muttered Falk, finally getting to his feet. He paused to straighten his clothing and hair before offering me a hand up. I was, in that moment, very glad that my tunic fell over the front of my trousers. I also didn’t want to release his hand, and I must have given him the most plaintive look, for his playful smile turned warm and tender again, and he leaned in to cup my face with his free hand before kissing me.

“I meant to tell you,” he said, even as Soren pretended now to be very interested in one of the paintings. “The Bretons will be leaving soon. We’re to send them off with another banquet. I know you dislike these sorts of things, but…”

“…I’ll come,” I said, smiling, even though my stomach gave a small twist of apprehension.

“Perhaps you may take more of that root, if you need it,” he said. “Though we’ll make sure you’re sitting down this time.”

I laughed, embarrassed, and he leaned in and kissed my warm cheek, then my lips, his own lingering against mine.

“Twenty minutes late,” commented Soren, and Falk sighed before finally pulling away.

“The banquet should take place three days from now,” he said, running a rueful hand through his hair—I’d accidentally mussed it again while kissing him. “Assuming everything goes as planned, that is. I’ll see you tomorrow…?”

I smiled and nodded, rolling my eyes when I caught Soren wiggling his eyebrows at me from behind his jarl’s back. I watched as the two of them headed for the door then. Once they were gone, I sat back down onto the sofa with a soft sigh.

A silly smile found its way onto my face, and I touched my own lips with my fingertips, imagining I could still feel the touch of his own. The feelings his touch ignited in me—did it mean I was ready for more? That was a rather serious step in a relationship, or so I was discovering—Francesca bedded men faster than she could learn their names sometimes. But I wasn’t Francesca, and the thought of being intimate with my own lover brought a red hot sensation to my cheeks—as well as a corresponding warmth down below.

I did my best to shake the thought from my head; otherwise, I’d have a very awkward and uncomfortable walk back to my room. If I couldn’t think of him like _that_ , I at least allowed myself the small pleasure of thinking of him in other ways. Perhaps the next time we met, I could share with him the song I had been working on. My composition was terribly rusty, but I had been working with both Karita and Jon, and was quite proud of my efforts so far. Even more daring—perhaps I could finally share with him one of my stories. One of the less… explicit ones, anyway.

Such dreamy thoughts evaporated, however, when I approached the door to my room and saw an envelope waiting for me on the table where the servants usually left my meals. There were very few people who would feel the need or desire to write me a letter, let alone know where to send one. It was thus either one of my editors, or—I hurried forward and grabbed the envelope, flipping it over and reading my name, and the address of this room, in the familiar hand of one of my mothers.

A new kind of giddiness enveloped me, and I hurried into my room, anxious to hear what they thought of all I’d informed them of in my last letter. I shut my door, kicked my shoes off, and flopped down on my bed. A faint feeling of trepidation tickled my stomach, too, for what if they disapproved of my entering into a relationship so quickly, and with someone they didn’t even know…

But I quickly saw that I had little reason to be concerned.

‘I’m so happy for you, and so proud of you!’ said one. ‘I cannot wait to meet him,’ said the other. They demanded to know what he looked like—how tall was he, what color was his hair, his eyes? Was he human or mer? And just how _much_ older than me was he? That one in particular made me wince, for I’m sure they were quite wary of my being taken in by a much older man. I would be honest with them, of course, but I’d also do my very best to reassure them that I wasn’t being taken advantage of, and that my lover was the kindest, truest, most honorable man I’d ever met.

With that thought in mind, I sat down to write them my reply immediately.

_Dear Mothers,_

_What? No interest in anything else I had to report? Nothing about my new friends, or my music, or my writing, or the fact that I’m living in a palace? I’m hurt…_

_You really are both the worst. Of course, the best way for you to meet him is to come here yourselves. I’m sure he would be happy to find you a place to stay here in the palace. He has the ability to do that—and so much more, really. You really aren’t going to believe what I’m going to tell you next, but I promise I’m not mad, and that it’s really true: his name is Falk, and he is the jarl of Haafingar Hold._

_I met him by accident, just as I described to you in my last letter. Only I somehow kept meeting him, and when my friend Jon found me a job in the palace, it became almost impossible not to see him. _

_I can’t tell you how much I love him. He is so kind, and so considerate towards me. You want a description, and so I’ll give one: Yes, he’s older than me, by nearly twenty years. But he is strong and handsome and gentle. He’s tall, taller than me! He has red hair and a red beard, and freckles that dot his cheeks and nose and forehead. His eyes are amber when the sun hits them, and he has the most beautiful smile. When I tell him how I feel about him, he blushes and stares at me as if he can’t believe it. His hands are large and fit perfectly in my own, and yet they hold me so gently, too. I should be embarrassed to tell you such things, but I’ve written far more embarrassing things in the past, and you never laughed at me then._

_I only wish that you could meet him. I know you would love him. I’ve told him a great deal about you both, and he seems eager to meet you, too. I promise you that he’s everything I say he is. I’m afraid in many ways, for I don’t always know how I fit into his life here at the palace, but he always does everything he can to make me feel as if I really do belong—as if we belong together._

_I can admit that I don’t really know what the future may hold for the two of us, but I can say with certainty that I’m glad I came to Solitude. I thought I was searching for meaning in my life—for a purpose, I suppose. But I think what I was really searching for was love. Is that bad? It feels wrong to admit that. Maybe you think I’ve gone silly with love. Maybe I have._

_Despite everything, I still miss you terribly. I wish you would come to visit. Tell me in your next letter if you can._

_Love,  
Laurie_

_//_

Enjoy this absolutely beautiful commissioned artwork of Laurie and Falk's first meeting!

__

_by[knightdawn](https://knightdawn.tumblr.com/)!!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me - a necessarily short chapter! It's one of those instances where everything will definitely flow more smoothly once the entire story is completed, but for now, we'll have to deal with this tiny chapter that barely whets the appetite. 😋 
> 
> This story has always been about Laurie's growth... as a musician and an artist, but as a person, too, a young adult and a late bloomer venturing out on his own for the first time in his life. Next chapter we'll see him admit and accept more truths about himself, and about his relationship, as well. Stay tuned! ❤


	25. Chapter 25

The eve of the Breton monarchs’ final day in Skyrim drew near—along with the banquet honoring the end of their visit, and, presumably, the start of a prosperous relationship for all parties involved.

I can’t say I wasn’t nervous about the banquet, but I also could admit I was looking forward to it, too. After all, my lover had been so attentive to me that first night that it had instigated a dramatic shift in our relationship. Could something similarly important occur tonight, as well?

“It could,” said Casien, as he lay several tunics out on my bed before standing back to study them all, hands on his hips. “Which is why we have to make sure you look your best.”

Just as I had for the first event, I’d received an invitation with my breakfast. Unlike last time, however, I didn’t feel the need to panic and seek out any of my friends for comfort.

Instead, they’d apparently decided to come to me.

“This is literally negating everything I’ve ever told him,” said Jon, frowning. “Laurie, don’t listen to him. Trust me, Falk will like you no matter what you’re wearing.”

“Oh,” said Casien, looking a little chagrined. “I didn’t mean to imply that he wouldn’t. Of course he loves you. But I’m not talking about making him fall in love with you. I’m talking about—well, basically, we want him to take one look at you and just—well, you know—

“Bend you over the nearest flat surface?” suggested Rin, who was currently sitting on my windowsill.

Casien gave him a look.

“Could you at least _try_ to put it more delicately? Oh, Laurie…”

For Rin’s exclamation had quite unnerved me, and I found myself sitting down on the bed rather suddenly—mostly because my knees had stopped working.

“Is that…” I blinked at Casien, who had sat down beside me, an anxious look on his face. “Is that really why you’re all here?”

“Laurie, trust me,” said Jon, “That is 100% not why I’m here.”

“Well…” said Casien, looking sideways.

Jon leaned back in the chair he was sitting in and just sighed.

“It’s just sex,” said Rin, smiling. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

But I couldn’t articulate the sudden feeling that came over me—something like fear and humiliation and dread, all rolled into one—and despair, too, for I knew the beginnings of a panic attack better than anyone, and it was just so… _disappointing_ that I should still be this anxious about becoming intimate with the man I loved.

“Hey,” said Jon, and I blinked, then started, for he was kneeling down right in front of me, his hands resting lightly on my knees.

He smiled when my eyes met his.

“You’re back. All right?”

“I’m working on your tea,” said Casien from behind him, and I saw that he was kneeling down before the fireplace. “I made Rin leave. Honestly, he’s been acting odd ever since he’s arrived. He never used to be this…”

He trailed off, for the look Jon was giving him evidently made him rethink whatever it was he was about to say. Instead, he pressed his lips together guiltily and cleared his throat.

“I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing. He did say things were still a bit cold between himself and Alain. Maybe that’s all it is.”

“Laurie, listen,” said Jon, turning back to me, “Come on. What have I always told you about Falk? He’s wild about you. And that means he won’t do anything you aren’t ready for.”

“…I know,” I managed, and I felt silly, curling my fingers into fists so my friends wouldn’t see them shake. “I just…”

“Here,” said Casien, sitting down beside me again and handing me a tea cup. “It probably needs to steep more though, and I’m not sure the water actually managed to boil.”

He and Jon both waited patiently while I sipped. I sighed after a moment and closed my eyes, doing my best to calm and center myself the way I’d been taught to do since I was a child.

“The thing is…” I opened my eyes again, though they remained focused on the cup in my lap. “I _want_ to be ready. It’s… _embarrassing_ that I’m not.”

“I don’t think you have anything to feel embarrassed about,” said Casien. “Honest.”

“Agreed,” said Jon, moving to sit down on my other side.

“I just wish…”

I trailed off, the rest of the words getting somehow caught in my throat. My hand came up and gripped the front of my tunic, as if I could physically reach for my heart and steady it. I was _so tired_ of living like this. I wanted to be like everyone else—like Casien and Jon and Karita.

Though I supposed Jon was right about Falk—that he wouldn’t mind waiting for me, no matter how long it took. Well, not indefinitely, of course, but—he’d been so kind, and so patient already. And, of course, I hadn’t exactly objected when he’d slipped his hand under my clothing; in fact—I’d quite liked it.

In truth, I wouldn’t mind doing the same to him—to touch him, feel him, press my fingertips against his warm, soft skin—kiss him in places that would make me blush.

I blinked and gazed down at my tea cup again.

“You know,” said Casien, smiling a little, “it’s pretty normal to be nervous.”

“Totally,” said Jon.

“I used to be nervous around Ulfric,” added Casien, his cheeks pinking slightly.

Jon snorted.

“I mean, who wouldn’t be.”

Casien laughed, and I couldn’t help smiling, too, for I don’t think I’d ever met a more intimidating person than his husband.

“It wasn’t that,” he said, “It was just that he was so much older than me, and so… I don’t know. He was the king. And I was nobody. Or at least that’s how I _used_ to think about myself, before he helped me to see myself differently.”

“Sound familiar?” asked Jon, giving me a little nudge with his elbow.

“But… I’m _not_ nervous around him,” I said. “I’m really not. I love being with him. It’s just, when I think about it…” I sighed, heavily, for I wasn’t even sure what I was trying to say.

“Could it be you’re worried about what this next step could entail?” suggested Casien.

I looked at him, blinking. Could that really be it? If we became intimate—that _meant_ something, didn’t it? Suppose he asked me to move in with him. I knew he wouldn’t make me give up my little room, but after he asked me—it would feel wrong to say ‘no,’ and now that I thought about it—perhaps ‘gifting’ me this room really _had_ been his way of ensuring that I would stay close.

Which wasn’t a _bad_ thing. There were worse things in the world than realizing the man I adored was anxious to keep me near him.

But suppose he wanted more than that?

“What if I break his heart…?” I said softly, fear closing my throat almost before the words could escape me. “Just like Lady Bryling?”

“Why would you do that?” asked Casien, his brow furrowing.

I tried to say the words, to explain myself as best I could. Instead, they all got stuck in my throat again, the way they always did. My fingers squeezed the cup in my hands until my knuckles turned white—I didn’t even realize I was doing it until Casien laid a tentative hand over my own.

“But _you_ aren’t Bryling,” said Jon. “What happened between them, whatever it was—it’s between them, Laurie. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Ulfric told me that Bryling didn’t want to be a jarl’s wife,” said Casien slowly.

I felt my fingers tighten reflexively around the tea cup again. Beside me, I heard Jon suck in a breath.

“Kyne’s grace,” he breathed, “Falk didn’t ask you to marry him, did he?”

“No!” I said, starting and blinking at him. “No, it’s just… if he…”

“If he did, then you’re not sure how you’d answer him?” Casien finished for me.

I nodded, miserable.

It was something that had been weighing heavily over me ever since the eve of Second Planting—and I hadn’t even fully realized it. I’d been so caught up in the _act_ of falling in love, that I hadn’t really paused to sit and think about the consequences of it. My lover was a jarl—a leader, a king; he had duties and responsibilities, and those duties and responsibilities would extend towards his spouse. Jon and Caisen were proof enough that they would. Beyond that, a spouse would inherit his lifestyle, too. That meant attending meetings with people I could barely speak to, showing up and interacting at public events, and being forced to make decisions or act in the name of my would-be husband, just as Jon and Casien sometimes did for their spouses.

And I couldn’t do it. I _knew_ I couldn’t.

“Laurie,” said Jon, snapping me out of the daze my whirlwind thoughts had left me in. “Listen to me. There’s something you seem to be missing here: Bryling didn’t break Falk’s heart because she didn’t want to marry him. She broke his heart because she _left_ him.”

I looked at him, blinking. He was right, of course. After all, Falk and Bryling had been together for years. Had he placed some sort of demand over her once he became jarl? That they _had_ to marry?

No—I couldn’t believe he would ever do something like that. It just wasn’t _him_.

“Maybe it’s time you talked to him about this,” suggested Casien. “Especially if you feel like you’re leading him on—which you aren’t!” he added, after I must have given him a panicked look.

“You’re definitely not leading him on,” said Jon. “And, honestly, I wouldn’t even mention it yet unless marriage actually does come up. But, Laurie, come on. You’re overthinking this, as usual.” He rolled his eyes. “Kyne’s Grace, you two really are the most ridiculous pair of idiots I’ve ever had to deal with. Yeah,” he added, nodding, “Falk talks to me, too, sometimes. So I’ve had to deal with pining from _both_ angles.”

“Poor Jon,” said Casien, smiling.

“You have no idea. Plus, the guy relies on Soren _way_ too much; I know he’s his best friend, but Soren is the last person I’d go to for romantic advice.”

“But… I like Soren,” I said, surprised to hear the man spoken of in such a negative light, for I really did like him.

“Oh, he’s a nice enough guy. Thinks the world of you, too, and he’s way protective of Falk. But he’s more likely to make fun of him for being a lovesick idiot than to offer him advice. If it were up to him, you two would still be gazing longingly out your windows and dreaming about the impossible.”

There was just something about Jon’s flippant appraisal of my relationship—not to mention Soren’s rather hilarious haphazard support of it—that seemed to remove the weight from around my shoulders. Suddenly, intimacy didn’t seem like such a frighteningly awful step. Falk loved me, after all, and I was quite certain I loved him. And, if I were perfectly honest with myself, I’d been looking forward to being intimate with him for quite some time now. I don’t think being ‘bent over a flat surface’ was quite what I’d had in mind, but the thought of being with him, in bed, skin to skin, touching him and being touched by him…

Well. Let’s just say I was ready. More than ready.

I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath.

“All right,” I said, letting it out again. I looked at Casien, then at Jon. “I’ll try to stop worrying about it so much.”

“Emphasis on _try_ ,” quipped Jon, and I snorted and gave his arm a light smack.

“I _can_ actually not worry,” I retorted. “I can deal with things like an adult; otherwise I’d never have been able to leave my mothers’ skirts.”

“But this is all new territory,” said Casien. “Cut yourself some slack. Believe me, I understand. Jon doesn’t because he and Olfina were together for _years_ before she became jarl.”

“Ignore him,” said Jon, rolling his eyes. “It was three years, tops!”

“But you were childhood friends,” said Casien. “That counts for something. A lot. Plus, she’s only like a year older than you. You should try taking up with a man who’s already been king for an eternity _and_ is way older than you _and_ could probably pick you up with one hand.”

“I don’t think Falk could pick me up with one hand,” I said, smiling.

“No, but he could definitely carry you. Think of the possibilities…”

“All right, well, I’m out,” said Jon, getting to his feet. “Especially if you two are just going to sit around getting doe-eyed over old men.”

“Jealous?” I asked, then laughed when Casien fluttered his eyes up at him.

“You two are the worst,” he said, shaking his head as he made his way out of my room, shutting the door behind him.

“Poor Jon,” said Casien, once he’d disappeared from view. “This past year has been hard on him.”

He sighed, leaning back on the mattress on the heels of his hands.

“I thought I might one day return to the college, but… honestly, I don’t think I could. I don’t think being away from the person you love for that long is healthy.”

I remembered what he’d told me earlier, about how he’d gone to study at a college of magic in a city far to the north of his own—that he’d spent a year there, away from his husband, and that even after he’d come home, they’d had to endure an even longer separation, one that had culminated in his rescuing Ulfric from the Thalmor. It was a reminder of all I could potentially be getting myself into by marrying a jarl. Yet somehow the thought didn’t frighten me as much as it had only a moment ago.

“I wouldn’t want to be away from him,” I said, the words slipping out of me almost before I knew I was even saying them. “I… don’t think I could bear it.”

“You could,” said Casien.

When I looked at him, his expression was soft, albeit tinged with sadness.

“It would be hard, but you could do it. You’d be surprised how much you can endure.”

I knew he was talking more about himself and his husband now than about me and Falk. I was sorry, deeply sorry, that they had both suffered so much. The more I’d gotten to know Ulfric Stormcloak, the more I liked him, most especially in part because of his devotion to Casien. I knew Falk had good reason to dislike him, and I still knew nothing of politics—nor did I ever wish to—but I hoped that he and my friend would never have to suffer so much again.

“Your husband…” I asked carefully. “Has he had anymore nightmares?”

Casien went still at my question, and I immediately feared I’d given offense. But after a moment, the tension left his body again, and he nodded slowly, his eyes apparently unable to meet my own.

“He won’t take his tea,” he said quietly. “Not while the moot continues. It’s supposed to help him sleep, but it dulls his senses during the day and makes him tired.”

“…I’m sorry,” I said, for I wasn’t sure what else to say.

He smiled a little, ruefully, I thought.

“People say I’ve got him under my thumb—I don’t like it; it’s an insult to him, and even when people joke about it, it isn’t true. He listens to me, but he always makes up his own mind. And when it comes to the important things—like taking better care of himself—he _never_ listens.” He sighed. “Honestly, I’m this close to slipping something into his drink at night.”

“…I imagine he wouldn’t be very happy with you if you did.”

He laughed, as though the thought were more amusing than anything.

“He’s _always_ mad at me. Usually for good reason! But that’s never bothered me before, and it won’t start bothering me now.” He sobered after a moment, his brow furrowing. “But I couldn’t do that to him. It would hurt his pride terribly, and I don’t think I should ever do that.”

“…At least the moot will be over soon,” I said, trying to find some way to cheer him up again.

“Technically, it’s already ended.” He paused, a little smile coming to his face. “Did you notice the difference in wording on the invitation? It’s not a banquet like last time, you know.”

“It’s not?”

“No! Basically, they’re going to set up tables alongside the dance hall, sort of how they usually do for Second Planting—well, I don’t know how you celebrate in your village, but that’s generally how it’s celebrated here. Only the Bretons wanted to see how we usually enjoyed our dinners, so that’s why we had a banquet the first time. It would normally have been in the dining hall—they used to call it a mead hall, but no one does anymore, they haven’t for centuries—but the Blue Palace doesn’t have one, not like a proper longhouse, so we had to use the second dance hall.”

It was strange the way he said ‘we,’ as if he were playing host to the others as much as Falk was—but then, Falk had said that he had been a great help since his arrival. And it struck me that the main reason Casien’s assistance was needed in the first place was because Solitude’s jarl had no spouse of his own—no one to plan events, send out invitations, determine seating arrangements. Jon had once joked to me (though I’m not sure how much he was really joking) about how relieved he was to be away from all that, though being separated from Olfina for an entire year was hardly an even exchange. I wondered, then, that Falk had turned to Casien instead of Jon for assistance—if it was simply because one of them actually _enjoyed_ such things and the other didn’t.

Eventually, Casien left to prepare for the gathering himself. We never did select the ‘perfect’ outfit for me; I’d managed to tell him that while I was becoming more comfortable with the possibility of intimacy, purposefully selecting an outfit that would somehow seduce my lover into taking me to his bed was beyond me. Besides, so far as I could tell, aside from color and fabric choice, all the tunics basically looked the same. I was pretty sure the size of the buttons or the cut of the shoulders wasn’t going to drive my date into a lustful frenzy.

Mostly, I didn’t wish to stand out. One thing I had appreciated while living in Solitude was not towering over everyone around me (though I suppose ‘towering’ was something of an overstatement—even back home, I was often only an inch or two taller than the tallest Breton). But people knew me now, and even if my height would no longer help me stand out in a crowd, standing beside the moot’s host certainly would. The last thing I needed was a tunic whose gold buttons and bright, satin fabric would catch the twinkling lights from the chandeliers.

I selected a cream-colored tunic this time, unassuming at first, though if you looked closely, you could just make out the very intricate gold stitching all throughout. It was very pretty, and very soft against my skin, and I felt it would breathe well on the dance floor. I decided to pull my hair partially back, too, for that would keep it out of my face while dancing. A pair of trousers were next, and then a new pair of boots I’d ordered from a cobbler just last week. I also slipped another piece of the calming root the healer had given me in my pocket, though I really didn’t think I would need it.

I also wisely drank another cup of tea. I felt calm at the moment, but that could always change, and I didn’t want to have to use the root if I didn’t have to.

I sat before the fireplace for a few minutes, smiling as I sipped my tea. I’d been so nervous the first time around! I hadn’t known what to do with my hair, so I’d done nothing at all. It was the first time I’d tried on any of the clothing my lover had gifted me, and doing so had made my heart skip maddeningly in my chest. I’d even felt a little awkward, as if the fine cut and feel of the fabric were somehow incongruous with my body.

Now I was almost used to wearing such things. The thought of having to spend several hours amidst a huge roomful of important people didn’t exactly fill me with pleasure, but it didn’t quite fill me with panic, either. I knew that Falk would keep me near him, and barring that, Jon and Casien would be there. I’d written to my mothers just yesterday and admitted my love for another man, and I’d as good as promised him that I wasn’t going anywhere. The moot had ended, but our relationship had not—and neither had my life here at the palace, and all that that entailed.

It had been days, too, since I’d thought of that which had once give me a panic attack on the ramparts above Solitude on Second Planting: Rin’s warning to us about his husband’s would-be kidnapping attempt. In the end, nothing had come of it. I don’t think I can be blamed for thinking that we were all in the clear, that nothing ever _would_ come of it.

The knock at my door startled me, but only because I’d been lost in thought. I smiled, set my empty tea cup aside, and got to my feet. I opened the door and—

He turned his head, his eyes meeting my own, and he seemed to straighten. As usual, I admired the breadth of his chest and shoulders, this time clothed in a dark green coat over a cream-colored tunic that very nearly matched my own. His lips curled immediately into a smile that heightened the creases at the corners of his eyes, and a slight flush spread over his cheeks under his beard.

“Ready?” he said, offering me his hand.

I smiled, nodded, and turned to close the door behind me before taking his hand, my fingers curling around his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to the end! Do you think it will be a happy ending? 👀


	26. Chapter 26

“You aren’t nervous, I hope?” he said, giving me an anxious look.

“…No,” I said, smiling. “Well… maybe a little. But not like last time.”

This seemed to relieve him, and he smiled and tucked my hand around his arm then—which made _me_ happy, for it allowed me to walk even closer to him, and I did so love the feel of his strong arm beneath my palm. Naturally, my thoughts then drifted towards what Jon, Casien, and I had discussed this afternoon, and I couldn’t help blushing. It was almost funny to realize, in that innocent little moment, how desperately I wanted him. Of course, I couldn’t help wondering if he felt the same way about me, but… something told me that he probably did.

Such passionate thoughts were rather incongruous with the bright, public scene that greeted us as we finally arrived at the gathering. Just as it had last time, the sound of the guests from within the great hall reached our ears long before we actually saw them. There were no tables laid out—we were in the dance hall, the _main_ dance hall, this time, and not the banquet area. I should say that there _were_ tables, but they all lay discreetly against the walls, with servants lined up behind them, ready to serve the guests. Various food stuffs and drinks were laid out, but most people either milled about the hall talking or sat on strategically placed little couches and sofas. The center of the room remained devoid of furniture, just as it had last time, and I supposed this was because there would once again be dancing.

“This is how the Bretons entertain,” murmured my lover, his lips close to my ear so I could hear him over the din of the crowd. “They call them _balls_ , though the term is, I believe, Colovian in origin. You know it, I suppose?”

I did. Not that I had ever been to one myself, but they were in many a novel, and I presumed many a palace, too, though I’d never set foot in one of those before, naturally—well, until I’d come here, to Solitude. But I had studied the ways of Breton nobles quite voraciously, all in the name of verisimilitude, and I suppose it had paid off. The editors at _The Red Rose_ presumably wouldn’t have accepted me, otherwise.

But to read about a thing—even to _write_ about a thing—was leagues away from actually experiencing it.

“Your guest’s name, my lord?” inquired a servant standing behind a little podium.

“The names of guests are read aloud as they enter the event,” explained Falk, and I immediately felt my heart drop down somewhere into the vicinity of my stomach.

“Myself and ‘guest’ will do, I believe,” he said to the servant, who nodded and jotted something down. Immediately, the tight feeling in my chest loosened. Falk must have noticed, for he placed his hand over my own, squeezing it warmly.

“Very good, my lord,” said the servant. “And will you or your guest be accepting partners?”

“Ah,” said Falk, smiling, “Now this one is interesting. Dancers are apparently divided between those who intend to ask for a partner, and those who intend to accept. This also determines who will lead—unless I’m mistaken on that part. In any case, those who wish to accept wear these cards on their wrists—” He held his hand out to the servant, who dutifully produced one of the little cards, handing it to him. “—whereupon they write the name of each partner they accept, corresponding to each dance. Like, so…”

He asked for a little pencil next, then carefully wrote down on the card his name: _Falk_. He then showed it to me with a cheeky little smile before handing it to me.

“…Is this mine?” I asked, starting a little, for I’d only just caught on to what he was doing.

“Did you have someone else in mind?” he asked, and I gave him a chastising look, making him laugh.

“…But now other people will know to ask me,” I said, frowning at the card in my hand. “What if… I don’t wish to dance?”

“Then you tell them, ‘no, thank you,’ and they ask someone else. You danced with many others last time, I think, including your friends. However, if it makes you feel better…”

He took the card from my hand again and began to write on it once more. He was already on the fourth line down when I realized…

“…You’re just writing your name on every line!” I cried.

I seized the card back from him, trying not to smile as he laughed.

I wasn’t too happy about wearing a card on my wrist—it hung from a piece of ribbon which Falk had to tie for me—as if I were a walking advertisement, but it apparently was just what fine folk in my country did at such gatherings. As the host and a jarl, my lover would be expected to do the asking—kings and queens did not submit to dance requests, apparently; they merely bestowed their illustrious presence upon others, and the jarls were certainly eager to prove they were of a similar social class. And the alternative to my _not_ wearing a card was not being able to dance with anyone, not even Falk, and that was obviously unacceptable.

Not that I greatly enjoyed dancing—not the way Casien and Jon clearly did. But I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to dance with my date again.

“Jarl Falk Firebeard and guest,” boomed the servant, his suddenly loud voice startling me.

Falk patted my hand consolingly as we began to walk out together. Naturally, everyone turned to look at us as we were announced, and it was all I could do to not hide my face behind my hands or against my lover’s neck—or turn around and walk right back out the way I had come. But I’d done that the first time, and I vowed to myself not to do it again. This was what being with him entailed, after all, even if it were just for one night.

“Laurie!” said a familiar voice, and there was a tightness in me that seemed to loosen as Casien made his way towards me, his large, brown eyes blinking excitedly. “You made it! And you have a card! Isn’t it fascinating!”

“…I don’t know that I’d call it that,” I said, my eyes trailing down to his own wrists—which were bare.

“Oh,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Ulfric didn’t like the idea of me wearing one; he said the whole idea was barbaric. Something about slavery having been outlawed in Tamriel ages ago and that no one was going to lay claim over me while he still breathed. But that means I can fill out _your_ card.”

“…Oh,” I said, and, after a moment, held my hand out to him, where the card lay against my palm.

“Blessed Azura!” He blinked then shot Falk an amused look. “He’s going to be too tired to dance with anyone else after _you_ get through with him.”

My lover had the grace to blush as he laughed, and I couldn’t help but find the sight a pleasant one. I think Casien caught me looking, for he arched a brow and smiled before pulling the little pencil out of one pocket and writing his name on my card.

“There,” he said, “Now let’s find Jon. We’ll make sure your card is full for the whole night. And we can petition Rin and Alain, too; they’re neither of them wearing a card”

“But… that means they can’t dance with one another,” I said, surprised.

Casien shot me a look, and I took that to mean that Rin and Alain’s relationship was still at something of a standstill. I didn’t know Rin very well at all, and Alain I had only met once, yet I still found myself disturbed by the thought. I didn’t wish for either of them to be unhappy, and it seemed wrong for two lovers—who were married!—to be at such odds with one another.

“Remember to allow for a break here and there,” said Falk, smiling warmly at me. “You don’t want to overtax yourself.”

“Says the man who’s engaged him for four dances in a row,” said Casien, rolling his eyes.

Falk laughed again, still sheepish.

“We may sit the third or fourth one out, if you like,” he said to me, then, with my permission, he took the card and drew lines through several of the empty spaces so that I could count on having a breather and resting if I needed to. When I expressed anxiety over being alone during those breaks, he simply wrote his name before each one, thereby assuring that we would be together.

“Look,” said Casien, “There’s Jon. We should go and rescue him from those nobles.”

“Ah,” said Falk, peering through the crowd now at poor Jon, who was indeed surrounded by three different women. “The Strong-Hand sisters. And all three with cards around their wrists, I see. I wonder how far he’s willing to go to avoid a diplomatic incident.”

Casien snorted, but when he looked at me, clearly expecting me to follow him in his valiant rescue attempt of our friend, I found myself squeezing the arm of my date before I could stop myself.

“Are you all right?” asked Falk, his voice suddenly dropping in concern, even as he lay his hand over mine again.

“…Yes,” I said, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. “I just…”

Casien blinked, but then a little smile flitted across his face.

“I understand. I hope you don’t mind if I bring Jon to you then.”

“Of course we don’t mind,” said Falk, and though I didn’t generally care for it when people presumed to speak for me, I never minded when he or Caisen did it. I suppose because they both seemed to only do so when they knew I couldn’t find the words myself.

“You might regret attaching yourself to me for the night,” murmured my lover, as we watched Casien make his way towards Jon—though he was naturally waylaid by another group of nobles who were no doubt eager to let everyone see them conversing with the high king’s consort.

“…I’m sorry,” I managed, and I could still feel how hot my face was. I felt so silly, and to have reacted like that in front of Casien, too…!

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, squeezing my hand again. “I know these events are not to your taste. But I’m afraid this will likely be our only respite.”

I quickly understood what he was trying to tell me, for we were almost immediately besieged by more guests. He was the jarl of this city, after all, and many of the resident attendees chose to use the ball as an opportunity to bend his ear to their cause, whatever that may be. One wanted to speak to him about the high tax rate on imported luxury items; another was concerned about a string of thefts that had been occurring in the garden district. Yet another wanted to know if warming relations with Jehanna and Farrun would result in an increase in profits for those companies which had risen in place of the now defunct East Empire Company.

It was all a blur for me. I rarely understood what each of them was really asking, for there was clearly always some undercurrent of self-interest hidden behind each inquiry. Falk would listen quietly, then spend several minutes explaining the court’s current position on the matter; the other person would inevitably offer some sort of rebuttal… and so the conversation would continue, at least until another guest saw an opportunity to interrupt them. It was evidently considered rather gauche to monopolize the jarl’s time, and the result was a seemingly endless stream of petitions.

All the while, guests continued to arrive. The servant behind the podium called out their names, his loud voice somehow managing to startle me each and every time. Queen Elora and Princess Penelope were the last of the monarchs to arrive—evidently, the rule about being asked to dance did not extend to the sisters of queens, for the princess wore a card around her wrist, and looked exceptionally eager to find partners who might fill it. It was inevitable that Elora would come and pay her respects to the host. She seemed to wait for Falk to politely ask Poppy if he might write his name on her card before turning and doing the same for me. I had also been duly asked by Jon at that point, and soon enough by both Rin and Alain. Just like last time, I couldn’t tell from looking at them that they were at odds with one another. Alain seemed to be as jovial as ever, and Rin teased me for refusing to leave Falk’s side.

At some point, my lover managed to disengage himself long enough to lead us toward some of the tables. We made little plates for ourselves—he was quite the meat-lover, I noticed, though he had a sweet tooth as well—before each taking a glass of mead.

Surprisingly, I had never had mead before; I suppose it isn’t commonly brewed in High Rock. Meanwhile, it was something of a cultural staple in Skyrim, and had evidently been chosen specifically for tonight’s occasion as a sort of farewell to the Bretons. I quite liked it, though it was a little sweet for my tastes. But it was tea-like in many ways, each batch infused with different flavors in addition to the overarching sweetness of the honey. I managed to sample three different varieties before the musicians began to warm up, signaling to the guests that the dancing would soon commence.

The first dance was a reel, just like last time. I liked holding my lover’s hands and following him as we turned and ducked around the other couples. I found myself gazing at him almost the entire time, and his smile, each time his eyes met mine, was radiant. I remembered the steps, for the most part, but sometimes I would get lost, and he would very kindly place his hands around my waist and lead me in the right direction. The dance didn’t quite leave me as breathless as last time, and I’m sure I had my tea to thank for it. I was quite glad I’d remembered to drink it beforehand.

We danced two more dances together, and then I was due for my first break. We found an empty couch, and he left me briefly to procure more mead.

“I’m not sure I should be drinking so much,” I admitted once he returned. The glass he’d handed me was infused with blackberries, and I liked the tart taste of it perhaps a little too much.

“Would you like a glass of water instead?” he asked, smiling as he sipped his own glass.

“Next time,” I said, then because we were sitting so closely together, and because the mead tasted so good and sweet on my lips, I leaned over and kissed him.

He kissed me back, one arm snaking around my middle to pull me closer. I felt a thrill run through me, for we had never kissed in full view of the public like this, and I was well aware that hundreds of eyes were probably watching us. _See_ , I wanted to tell them, _I love him. I love him, and no one else!_

It was all very silly. I think he agreed with me—that we should probably lay off the mead—and other guests were likely coming to the same conclusion. While I danced with Jon, he apparently disappeared to have a word with the cook, to order more alternatives, such as tea or lemonade, to be offered alongside the mead.

“That was some kiss,” said my friend as I tried desperately not to step on the toes of his boots.

“…Oh?” I said, doing my best to hide my smile.

He gave me a knowing look.

“By the way, I talked to him earlier today, after we left you.”

I wasn’t sure what I was meant to reply to this, so I only frowned a little, waiting. But when he just smirked and didn’t continue—

“And?” I said, and I blame the mead for the demanding tone I could hear creeping into my voice.

He laughed.

“ _And_ maybe you should drink more. I like you like this, and I’ll bet he does, too.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I think I’ve had enough,” I said. The last thing I needed was to have to be carried or led back to my room like some inebriated town drunk.

“Hmm. Aim for that fine line between ‘relaxed’ and ‘I can’t see the fingers in front of my face anymore.’ That’s my advice.”

“Who asked you for advice?” I scoffed, tripping a little, though he managed to catch me. We looked at one another then and both started laughing, and I don’t think it was on account of the mead.

“Well, the moot’s over,” said Casien, in between licking cream from his fingertips—his plate was piled high with sweets, and I don’t think it was his first one for the night. “Everyone’s finally able to relax. Jon will see Olfina again, and you and Falk will finally have more time to spend together.”

We’d decided to sit our own dance out. I was tired, and I hoped to eat a little more to soak up the alcohol in my system. Casien’s husband stood close by, and though he appeared to be constantly engaged in conversation with some local thane or fellow jarl or high-ranking military personnel, he never seemed to lose track of Casien, for he was constantly glancing in our direction, almost as if to ascertain that we were still here.

“…That must be why he’s in such good spirits,” I said, smiling a little as I thought of our friend. “He’ll be with his wife again soon.”

“Sooner than he thinks,” said Casien, his own smile turning mysterious, but when I pressed him for more information, he wouldn’t say.

“Jon said he talked to Falk, earlier today,” I said after a moment. “Only he wouldn’t say about what.”

“Oh,” said Casien. “Yes, he told me about that…”

I waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t—

“You’re as bad as he is!” I said, huffing under my breath. But this only made him laugh and pop another chocolate into his mouth. I cherished my friendship with both him _and_ Jon, but I didn’t like having the wool pulled over my eyes, either.

“Sorry,” he said, for I must have had quite the piqued expression on my face. “I promise it’s nothing bad. I think Falk just needs… well, he’s relied on Jon a lot, you know, throughout all of this. He said as much earlier, remember?”

“…For the moot?” I asked, blinking.

“No,” said Casien, smiling. “For _you_. Your relationship. Apparently, Falk’s been a bit hopeless at times on that front. Jon told me he doubts himself constantly. He didn’t think you liked him at all at first. Though…” He paused, frowning. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who needed to pace himself with the mead. Nevertheless, I decided to take his reassurances to heart, even if it still bothered me on some level that my friends were keeping something from me. I supposed they had their reasons for whatever it was they weren’t telling me.

My respite was short-lived, for soon enough it was time for the next dance. I was half-dreading my next partner, for last time he had quizzed me about my relationship in a way that had left me rather flustered. 

“And now the moment you’ve been waiting for!” he said, taking my hand and bowing gallantly over it before straightening again with a grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. He was nothing like I would have imagined a king to be. In a way, I was almost sorry I hadn’t had a chance to get to know him better. I couldn’t really say the same about his husband—there was just something about Rin that set me on edge, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on why.

“Now,” he said, as he led me to the dance floor, “I shall have to hold you rather close, I’m afraid. Is that handsome jarl of yours about? He shan’t like it, I’m sure.”

“Nor would Rin,” I said, smiling and chastising him gently, for I was certain he was only teasing.

But then he startled me when he placed a hand on my waist and actually pulled me slightly closer. I would have been offended as well as surprised—if I hadn’t noticed the other couples standing similarly.

“This is a new style of dancing, out of Wayrest,” he explained, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I couldn’t help blushing, for I felt very uncomfortable, standing so close to him. And then I began to genuinely worry that he was right—that Falk would see me with him and be hurt by our closeness. But surely he was on the dance floor, too; I tried to turn my head and look for him, but the room was so crowded, and many seemed eager to try out the new dance.

The movements were simple, but we stayed paired together, my footsteps essentially following his own. I had to look down more than once, and he laughed, the sound making me blush anew, for it reminded me of how close his face was to my own.

“You shall make a fine consort, I think,” he said, smiling when I blinked at him in alarm. “Tall and beautiful and graceful. I can only hope he appreciates you as much as he should.”

I didn’t know what to say to this, and I could feel my face burning all the hotter. I wished that the dance might end quickly, even though it had only just begun.

“I embarrass you,” he said, laughing. “I should apologize. You know, I never really could make Rin blush. There’s something so… irascible about him. He’s more inclined to shout at me than turn the same lovely shade of pink as yourself.”

I looked at him, beseeching, but he continued to seem oblivious to my discomfort. And all the while he led me deftly across the dance floor, our bodies alarmingly close together.

“You’re quite the dancer,” he continued. “Holding you is like holding a delicate flower, ripe for plucking—you mustn’t pinch too hard lest you bruise it. Holding Rin is like holding a wild cat—all spite and bristle and claws. But you are no wild cat, I think. You rather remind me of an Alik’r sighthound. Spirited, yes, but gentle and soft and elegant. Does Falk keep hounds, I wonder? He hasn’t the look of a hunter.”

He was drunk. I could see it now, in the flush of color beneath his bearded cheeks, in the brightness of the hazel eyes that gazed up into my own. _Where is Rin?_ I wondered, for he ought to see to his husband. Alain should not be out like this, not at such an event.

“…I don’t know,” I finally said. “He… hasn’t spoken of it.”

“Does he ride? He should take you riding. But these sturdy Nord beasts are nothing compared to our own; I’ve a stallion from Hammerfell, you know, gorgeous beast! He gives me the prettiest colts and fillies. If you should return to Farrun with me you could have your pick of the herd. Rin is not fond of riding and won’t accompany me when we hunt. But you!” He paused to twirl us both as we danced, somehow miraculously staying on his feet. “You would be the _perfect_ consort for a king. Docile and beautiful—

“Your Majesty,” I said quickly, for this had gone beyond discomfort. “I think we should stop—I should find Rin—

“Rin!” He laughed, and there was something distinctly bitter about the sound. “Rin has done with me. No, I shall need a new prince. One who won’t mind what an absolute _fool_ of a man sits on the throne of our great province.”

“…I’m sure that’s not true,” I said.

“Oh, but it is. I do love him, you know. But I don’t deserve him. I know that now.” He blinked, his eyes rising up to meet my own, as though he’d just recalled who his partner was. “But you… you could learn to love me, I’m sure of it. Tonight, if you’ll allow it, I might visit your room, and—

“No!” I said, and I pulled my hand from his almost without thinking and pushed against his chest, separating us. We both stumbled back from one another. He blinked at me, seemingly confused. Luckily, we were near the outer edge of the dancing, so those couples nearest us could easily avoid us.

“You fucking _idiot_!”

The angry voice from behind me startled me, but before I could really react, Rin was between myself and Alain, glaring up at his husband.

Alain gazed down at him, his cheeks even more flushed than before.

“Jealous?” he finally asked, a smile spreading over his face.

Rin’s lips pressed back against his teeth—I couldn’t help but think of Alain’s early comparison of him to a wild cat. Then, without another word, he grabbed his husband by the arm and began stalking back towards the exit. I watched them both go—Rin’s grip vice-like, his expression hard, Alain tripping and protesting, causing even those guests not dancing to pause and stare and murmur as they passed.

That’s when I realized I was still standing on the dance floor—alone. The song had finally ended, and the dancers were separating, chatting with one another, or walking off together, arm-in-arm. I swallowed, feeling my face warm anew as many of them stared at me as they passed, some even leaning close to whisper into their partner’s ear. Where was my lover? I wondered, for I couldn’t see him at all. Where was Casien, or Jon?

The musicians tweaked their instruments, indicating the start of the next song. Rin was to have been my next partner; he had signed my card immediately after Alain had. I wasn’t sure what to do; I couldn’t just stand here like a witless fool.

And then a man appeared before me.

_He doesn’t care for dancing_ , Casien had once said, rolling his eyes as he said it. They were such a strange pair—one so small and bright, the other large and bear-like, both in size and temperament. True to form, he rarely smiled. He was not smiling now as he regarded me for a moment before offering me his hand.

After hesitating for only a moment more, I took it.

He gave a slight bow, then led me towards the rest of the dancers. It was another reel, and I suppose it was that domestic sixth sense of his that allowed him to immediately pick out his beloved. Casien’s eyes went wide as saucers when he saw us. He was partnered with Poppy, who clapped her hands in either pleasure or amusement—evidently, the High King of Skyrim’s disdain for dancing had become a well-known fact, even to Solitude’s foreign guests.

“How is that fair?” asked Casien, and I’ve no doubt that the pout on his round face tugged at his husband’s heartstrings, though a faint twitch of the lips was the only response he received.

“…I was alone,” I said, doing my best to gather my scrambled nerves together so as to explain the situation.

Casien’s eyes went wide again, and he asked, lowering his voice: “Rin and Alain…?”

I nodded. He must have seen their exit—but I suppose nearly everyone had, at some point or other. But then the music began in earnest, we were joined by a third and final couple, and the dancing commenced.

My partner was a steady if not overly flamboyant dancer. I was able to easily follow him, and, when I needed to, I could glance at Poppy or the other dancer in our trio of couples and mimic their movements. Casien attempted to extract information from me whenever we were near one another, but I found myself still too flustered to give adequate responses.

“Drunk!” he said, and I nodded as we passed one another. “No wonder Rin was furious!”

“He isn’t the only one!” said Poppy, blinking her pretty, green eyes. “I saw several people so far gone they had to be led away!”

“It’s the mead,” said Casien, frowning. “There’s something off about it.”

But there was little time to contemplate such a pronouncement, for I had to remain focused on my feet, lest I trip and make a show of myself before the entire assembly. As for Ulfric, if he had any opinion on the matter, he kept it to himself.

The dance ended soon enough, and I was feeling more than unusually breathless. I think the shock of the situation had finally left me, but I still felt as if I ought to sit down. Before my solemn-faced partner could lead me away, however, I spotted the one person I’d been desperately searching for since the incident had first occurred.

His name on my lips was little more than a murmur as I slipped my hand from the high king’s arm and hurried towards him. I must have appeared rather in distress, for he immediately reached for me, gripping me gently by the elbows as he gazed anxiously at me.

“Laurie! Are you all right?”

“Where _were_ you?” asked Casien, coming to stand beside me, arms crossed over his chest. “Rin and Alain had a fight, and Laurie was left all alone on the dance floor. Ulfric had to dance with him.”

At this Falk blinked, visibly taken aback. He looked at Ulfric, who had come to stand quietly beside his husband.

“I’m afraid I had business to attend to,” he finally managed. “A fire in one of the storerooms—

“What?”

The high king’s habitually low voice was suddenly sharp, his blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.

But Falk sighed and waved a hand.

“It was nothing. In fact, it apparently occurred well before the start of the ball; I’d only just been informed about it. Rest assured, I’m having Captain Reyna investigate the incident, but the cook asserts it was an accident, and I found no evidence to contradict her assessment.”

“And you do not find such an incident occurring on the eve of this event at all suspicious?” asked Ulfric.

“On the contrary, I found it _very_ suspicious. Which was why I immediately left to investigate the situation as soon as I learned of it.”

“Come on,” said Casien, tugging on his husband’s arm. “If Falk says it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. Let’s leave him and Laurie be.”

Ulfric still looked unconvinced, but he allowed Casien to eventually pull him away. I watched them for a moment as they walked away from us, then returned my attention to my lover.

“Poor Laurie,” he said, his palm coming up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. “You must tell me which hold or city I am to declare war against. Who is it that left you all alone on the dance floor?”

I laughed, for his teasing never failed to instantly lighten my spirits.

“…King Alain,” I said, smiling sheepishly when the name obviously took him off guard. “Now you’ll have to tell Jarl Ulfric that the moot has been for nothing.”

“That is indeed unfortunate,” he said, sighing. “For now I shall probably have to go to war against _him_ as well.”

“Casien would never forgive me!” I said, laughing again.

He smiled—I think he enjoyed being able to make me laugh—then tucked my hand around his arm, as was his wont. Another dance had begun; according to my card, we were meant to dance it together, then afterward enjoy a break for us both. But I think he could see that I had lost my taste for dancing, and, on top of everything, I was quite tired. I had taken my tea early, yes, but it wasn’t just that. I found dancing—relentlessly so, as I had tonight, dance after dance, partner after partner—exhausting. I was unused to such repetitive, spirited exercise, and I hated to think that my condition was to blame for my weariness, but it was rather hard to deny it.

The outdoor balcony area was surprisingly crowded. The nighttime air was pleasantly cool, and many sought its refuge after spending the last hour or two dancing and mingling amidst the hot press of other bodies. People seemed more lively, too, more open and prone to laughter. That had to be the mead, I supposed, for I recalled Casien saying it was stronger than it ought to have been, and Poppy pointing out that others had succumbed as Alain had.

Nevertheless, we were able to find an empty space along the balustrade, between two large, potted, flowering plants. It lacked the privacy of the little nook he’d first tucked us into, when he’d so passionately declared his feelings for me, and had kissed me so deeply it had left me almost weak and clinging to him afterward.

Tonight felt different. I was tired, and shaken by what had happened, and he was preoccupied. I studied his features as he gazed past me, out towards the city, a slight breeze ruffling his short hair—I don’t think he’d cut it since I’d met him, and it had grown out a little. He naturally caught me looking and smiled.

“The moot’s final evening,” he said, sighing and taking my hand in his, almost absently. “How relieved you must be. How relieved we _all_ must be.”

“…Has it been difficult?” I asked, searching his features again, for he still seemed strangely subdued.

“I wouldn’t term it as such, no. But it has been taxing, on many levels.” His lips twitched, a hint of his old self returning. “And it’s kept me from spending time with you.”

I lowered my eyes and smiled. It was a silly thing to say, for he had made great effort of late to spend time with me. But it pleased me, and I think he knew that.

“May I ask… if you’re happy?”

I looked up again, surprised by the question. He looked anxious again, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why he would feel the need to even ask it.

“Of course,” I said.

A smile flitted across his face, and I felt him squeeze my hand in his.

“Truly? With us, with this relationship… with me?”

“Yes,” I said, frowning. “Why…?”

He cleared his throat and looked away for a second, the distracted look returning to his face. Then he seemed to take a breath, his lips pressing briefly together.

“It’s only—I suppose, that I’d hoped that this night might be rather special.”

“…Special?”

“Yes,” he continued, still unable to meet my eyes. “For—both of us.”

It took me more time than it should have to understand his meaning. And now I understood the reasoning behind his hesitancy, too, and his inability to speak directly.

“Oh…” I said, swallowing.

I could feel my face heating up, and when his eyes finally met mine again, searching, I suppose, for my true feelings on the matter—I couldn’t help but note the flush that had come to his own cheeks.

“It… still can be,” I managed, though I stuttered over the words horribly, and felt the breath catch in my throat afterward.

Immediately, his eyes widened, and I felt his hand squeeze my own again.

“Would you like it to be?” he asked, his voice husking ever so slightly.

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I only nodded. His free hand came up to cup my face, fingers curling around my neck under my hair. He leaned towards me, pausing for a moment, our faces close—I could feel him breathing against me. Then he finally kissed me, and for the first time I felt desire spike immediately within me.

“You don’t wish to dance more?” he asked, his lips still so near my own.

I swallowed and shook my head.

“I…” He seemed to need a moment to collect himself, breathing in and putting a more reasonable distance between us. “I will have to remain for a little while longer. But I… if you like, you could wait for me. I could ask Soren to show you the way.”

I blinked, confused again.

“The way to my room,” he explained, his voice dropping again, and I probably shouldn’t have kissed him again, but I did.

I didn’t notice or care about the gentle laughter and low murmurs nearby until one of the guests called out, _Are we to offer congratulations, my lord?_

We both separated quickly, and the embarrassment on his face was so stark I couldn’t help but laugh—though I did try to cover it with one hand. He glanced at me, his expression pained now.

“…Not as such, Lady Doria,” he finally managed, the fingers of one hand now absently running through his hair. “We were just…”

But then he seemed to come to a decision. He breathed in; his eyes met mine—then he took my hand again and led me away from the balustrade and back towards the dance hall. I heard the gentle laughter of the well-to-do people behind us, but he paid them no mind. He continued leading me along the outskirts of the dance hall, people turning to look at us as we passed. I had the unfortunate luck of seeing my friends and knew that _they_ knew exactly what was happening, for Casien’s mouth fell open a little, and the smirk that came to Jon’s face made me literally attempt to hide my own red face behind my free hand.

“Where is Soren?” he asked one of the servants standing at attention near the entrance.

“I believe he’s in his office, my lord,” the startled woman replied.

The steward’s office wasn’t far from where we were, for both were on the first floor and towards the eastern side of the palace. He remained silent, my hand still clasped firmly in his own, as we made our way there. I glanced at him as we walked—I could still make out the flush to his cheeks, even in the low lighting, and I wondered that he couldn’t seem to let himself speak.

When we came to Soren’s door, it was open, but he paused to knock anyway before entering. Soren looked up from his desk—took one look at us and our warm, nervous faces—and grinned.

“Tell me,” he said, folding his arms neatly before him.

Falk gave him a look, and once again I couldn’t help the laughter that spilled out of me.

“I would like you to escort Laurie to my chambers,” he said, the bold declaration setting my cheeks to flame again.

“It would be my pleasure,” said Soren, his lips quirking. “But is there a reason you’re unable to take him there yourself?”

“Because if I did,” my lover replied steadily, “I would not be able to leave him.”

I looked at him, startled—and immediately felt myself flush even _hotter_ than before. And to think I had only recently questioned whether he wanted me the same way I wanted him!

“…And as the host of this fine gathering,” he continued, clearly trying not to smile, for he must have noticed my reaction, “it is, of course, my duty to remain at tonight’s event for the appropriate amount of time. Not long,” he added, turning to me and taking my hand in both of his now. “Only to help conduct the closing ceremony. Only a few more dances, I think, and I can reasonably do so. I’ll not need to remain afterward.”

I nodded, and he took a step closer to me—I could see his lips tremble slightly as his eyes dropped down to my own. But then he seemed to breathe in and straighten. He brought my hand up to his lips, kissing it, then, without another word, turned and exited the room.

“…Well,” said Soren, after I was left trying to remember how to breathe for a moment or two. He smiled and stood up from his desk, gesturing towards the door. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! Does this make up for the shortness of the previous two chapters? 😏
> 
> Alain! For shame! Who saw _that_ coming? But it looks like the night may end well for our gentle young hero after all... 💕


	27. Chapter 27

“So,” said Soren, pausing to lock the office door behind him before joining me in the hallway. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant evening?”

When all I could do was blink helplessly back at him—for I knew he was teasing me—he just laughed.

“He was very nervous about tonight, you know,” he continued, as we began to walk together. “Even more so than usual. And I’m sure dealing with the moot on top of everything else has caused its own mental strain, as well.”

Nervous! Some of the heat left my cheeks at that, for it hadn’t really occurred to me that the same anxiety I’d been feeling of late might have also been shared by my lover. He was far more experienced than I was, after all. As for the moot, I knew that it had presented many challenges for him, but he’d _seemed_ to bear them all with grace and fortitude. He rarely complained to me about it—if he did, it was usually only about something one of the other jarls had said that may have stumped him or irritated him, or worse, placed him in a difficult position. But he’d never indicated that he found the entire situation overwhelming.

“I… hadn’t realized,” I finally managed.

“Unfortunately, that is just as he would have it. I’ve encouraged him to confide in you more, but I believe he fears burdening you unduly.” He gave me a wry smile as we made our way up a second flight of stairs. “I think, in his mind, separating his relationship with you from his duties as jarl and host have helped him to compartmentalize his fears. Hopefully, you can forgive him for that.”

“Of course,” I said without thinking, then I felt embarrassed, for it was silly to realize how easily I was able to forgive my lover for just about anything. Soren didn’t seem to think it silly though, for he only smiled a little, as though he hadn’t expected me to answer otherwise.

“Well,” he said, coming to stop before a door on the third floor, “Here we are.”

He unclipped a key ring from his belt and inserted one of the keys into the door, opening it and gesturing for me to proceed him. I did, my heart skipping faintly in my chest as I looked around me and realized where I now stood.

It was a sitting room, the same as Jon’s or Casien’s, but far grander—a jarl’s sitting room: immense yet well-furnished, elegant but comfortably lived in. There were two large windows, but as it was dark outside, the only light came from the fireplace and the oil lamps set carefully on bookshelves and side tables. The windows each had window seats, and there were two sofas along with several chairs. Wall-to-wall rugs gave the room a cozy feeling, despite its size. I couldn’t help imagining the room’s owner sitting on one of the couches or gazing out the window, or bending before the fire to stroke it back to life.

“The bedroom is that way,” said Soren. “And beyond it the wash room. You’ll want to take one of the lamps and use it to light the fire there; it looks as though it’s gone dark. Or I could do it for you, if you like.”

I glanced towards the open doorway which allegedly led to the bedroom and felt myself blush.

“…No,” I said, glad for the dim-lighting, “I don’t mind doing it.”

Soren smiled.

“Then if there’s nothing else…?”

I shook my head, and he surprised me with a slight bow before turning to leave me.

“Wait!” I said, and the word had rather slipped out of me, as though I suddenly didn’t wish to be left alone. Soren paused and waited as I fumbled for what to say next.

After a moment, he approached me again.

“It must seem very silly,” he said, his kind voice softened, “for your lover’s friend to deliver you to his bedroom as if you were his prize for the night. But you mustn’t see it that way.”

I shook my head, even as I felt my cheeks flame anew.

“I have known Falk nearly my entire life,” he continued. “I can assure you, with all my heart: he is a good man—kind, honest—sincere. He will never push you to do anything you don’t wish to do.” He stood back, straightening a little. “But his life is no longer his own. He understands that. It’s something he had to accept once he became jarl. If you are here, it is because he hopes that you understand it, too, and that you believe he will do everything in his power to make you happy. It simply isn’t in his nature to do otherwise.”

I nodded, not entirely certain of what he was trying to say. But I knew that he wanted me to be at peace—to trust in his friend, and that was something I could always do. And yet I felt quite desperate in that moment, almost frightened—entering a new stage in my life, in my relationship, and in such a way, with such a person. I had never felt so alone, and so far from home, as I did then.

Soren smiled a little, then actually put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing me briefly before finally turning to go. Only when the door closed behind him did I remember to breathe again, my eyes fluttering shut as I allowed myself to collapse on the nearest couch.

I made myself stay like that for some time: counting my breaths and courting inner peace. When I opened my eyes again, it was to realize that I wasn’t actually nervous at all. I was… anxious, yes, but… I wanted tonight to happen, I just wasn’t sure _how_. Maybe it was good that he was so much more experienced than I was. Everyone—Soren, Jon, Casien—they were always urging me to trust my lover. Maybe it was time that I did.

After a moment, I got up and allowed myself to wander about the room. It was cozy, despite its size, and I could easily imagine him spending time here, reading, catching up on his work, even napping on one of the sofas if he were able to find half an hour to do so. I picked up some of the books on the shelves, thumbing through them before replacing them. I didn’t wish to go through or even disturb any of his personal items, so stacks of papers, letters, and the like, I left untouched.

I thought it probably a good idea to use the toilet; it wouldn’t do to be in the heat of the moment and realize I had to pee. As per Soren’s instructions, I took one of the lamps, found a wick, and lit it from the lamp’s flame before making my way into the bedroom, where I knelt before the fireplace and coaxed it back into being. There were two more lamps in this room, too, but the lit fireplace bathed at least half the room now in warm light.

I lit the fire in the washroom as well, but I didn’t linger there. I had bathed before the ball, had even brushed my teeth and shaved, even though I hadn’t really needed to do the latter. I took a deep breath, let it out, then made my way back into the bedroom.

The bed was very large. It was covered in a rich, dark red bedcovering, with gold tassels hanging along the edges. There were only a few pillows at the head, and a soft blanket lay folded over the foot of the bed. The bedcovering, when I ran my fingers over it, was satin, the edges velvet brocade. It, like everything else in this apartment, appeared unquestionably fit for a king.

It was both hard and _not_ hard to imagine myself on those sheets, so I thought it prudent to try and put the notion out of my head—for now.

Something on the nightstand caught my attention, and I sat down gingerly on the side of the bed before reaching for it. It was a book—no, a journal, and it was shockingly familiar: plain cover, stylized title at the top, thicker than most literary journals: it was the latest edition of _The Red Rose_.

My heart skipped a beat when I realized the obvious: he must have been reading this. Was he a regular reader of _The Rose_? No, of course not—well, perhaps, but I had mentioned the name of the journal I was being published in multiple times, so it seemed likely he had purchased it for that reason alone—(or rather, had sent someone to purchase it for him).

There was a pencil set inside it, as though marking where he’d left off reading. I opened it—and stared down at the title at the top of the page:

_The Romantic and Thrilling Adventures of Francesca and Francis Neramo – Chapter 4_

By the Divines—he had read my story! Or at least part of it—or at least _planned_ on reading it, for I had no idea if he’d actually gotten the chance to do so. I saw that my penname had been lightly underlined, and next to it, written in his familiar hand, three names:

_Laurie?_   
_Arenya?_   
_Louise?_

I couldn’t help the little laugh that fell out of me, though I tried to cover it up with my hand, as if I weren’t the only person in the room. He had guessed right! True, he’d gotten one of my mother’s names wrong, but I probably hadn’t mentioned their names more than once or twice, so it was impressive he had remembered as much as he had. I suppose in a way I had made it easy for him; he _knew_ I was in _The Red Rose_ , and the similarity between ‘Lorenya’ and ‘Arenya’ probably had seemed too close to be a coincidence. He was a clever man, after all, though it still amused me to see the evidence of his sleuthing.

Just then I heard the outer door open. My heart leapt up into my throat, and I very nearly dropped the journal in my hands. There was the sound of boots being removed, then a sword belt and some heavy piece of clothing—a coat?—being tossed onto one of the sofas. Then…

“…Laurie?”

For one second, I let the sound of his mildly anxious voice linger in the air. He was confused, I realized, and I wondered if he thought I hadn’t come after all. It made me smile—and long to put my arms around him and reassure him that I very much _was_ here.

“…In the bedroom,” I said, and despite what I’d just admitted to myself, I still blushed to hear such words leave my own lips.

He entered the room, pausing for a moment before he saw me sitting on the bed. He had a tentative smile on his face as he approached—then stopped short when he saw what I was holding.

“Ah,” he said. He clasped his hands before him. “I can explain. You see…”

I smiled and rolled my eyes, then probably surprised him by reaching up and taking one of his hands, pulling him gently down beside me.

“You don’t have to explain,” I said, shifting so I could face him.

Sitting so close to him now, and on his bed, no less… I could feel desire starting to thrum through me, my heart beating rapidly in response. I swallowed, smiled, and looked down.

“I should have let you read them a long time ago,” I admitted.

“Yes,” he said, his stern voice startling me—until I realized he was teasing. “You should have.”

I rolled my eyes again, but I was still smiling. I couldn’t seem to _stop_ smiling, now that we were together.

“Do you know,” he continued, “For a brief moment, I thought you had changed your mind. And I was… so disappointed.” Our eyes met again, and he smiled. His expression, even in the low-lighting, was so warm, so earnest. “I’m very glad that you have not.”

I didn’t know what to say in return—how to articulate that it would be impossible for me to turn back now. I loved him too much, wanted him too badly. I wished that he might take me in his arms in that very moment, yet I was still too shy to do anything that might encourage him to do so. Instead, I took a deep breath, and swallowed.

“Laurie…”

I felt his hand on my cheek and looked up again. His thumb brushed over my mouth, and my lips parted… yet still I couldn’t speak. I sighed again, lay my hand gently over his own, closed my eyes, and let myself lean into his touch.

I think that was all he needed—some sign that I was ready, that I wanted to do this, to be with him, to give myself to him. I don’t mean that in bad sense; only that I truly had no idea what I was doing, and I trusted him to know enough for both of us. And so he did.

The journal fell from my other hand as he leaned in to kiss me. My response was probably too eager, but I don’t think I can be blamed. The kiss was as deep and passionate as any we had shared, but this time, we were not on a sofa in the middle of the palace art gallery. We were in his bed, and when I lay back beneath him, allowing him to cover my body with his own, I lay back against the softest silk, the nearby crackling of the fire the only other sound in the room.

His hand once again found its way under my tunic, and this time I was prepared for the feel of rough, warm fingertips gliding up over my skin. I arched beneath him—then gasped, my face blooming hot, even as a spike of sheer pleasure shot through me.

He paused to laugh, the sound gentle but husky around the edges, too.

“I agree,” he said, our faces still close. He nuzzled his nose against mine. “That felt very good.”

Then, very gently and very carefully, he took one of my hands and brought it between us, right where our bodies had just touched, letting my palm rest against the front of his pants.

I breathed in, sharply, the little sound that escaped me not unlike a moan. I could feel him, the shape of him, hot and firm and—ready for _me_ , I realized, the realization causing desire to coil hotly inside me again. I looked up at him, and he smiled—then arched his eyebrows a couple of times, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

After a moment, he sat up, but only so he could tug at the strings of his tunic. I sat up as well, just enough to prop myself up on my elbows, watching as he pulled the garment over his head, the undertunic soon following.

He was beautiful. His shoulders were just as broad as they appeared to be under his clothing, and dotted with freckles almost as much as his face and arms. Dark red hair spread over the expanse of his chest, marching in a line down over his stomach before disappearing tantalizingly beneath the hem of his trousers. He was the picture of firm muscle beneath soft skin, and probably the faintest layer of fat than any man his age would possess.

The first time I lay my palm against his bare skin, the hair on his chest tickling my own skin—I don’t know how my heart didn’t stop right then and there. He lay his hand over my own and smiled at me when our eyes met. Then he slowly leaned down towards me, until he was lowering his body onto mine again, and our lips met in yet another kiss.

He took his time with me that night, which shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did, for though he had to have been as ready for this as I was, he had never been one to push, or to take what wasn’t freely and eagerly given. I had full opportunity to wrap my arms around him and run my palms over the smoothness of his back as we kissed—to arch against him again and moan at the sweet, burning hot, pleasurable contact. It wasn’t long before he coaxed me to remove my own tunic and undertunic. I suddenly found myself shy, for I was as different from him as one person could be from another. I was narrow, not broad, and I knew he could feel my ribs and my spine beneath my skin. But all he did was kiss me endlessly, and murmur to me how beautiful I was. And just for that moment, I allowed myself to believe him.

My boots were next—really, I should have removed them when I’d entered the apartment, but I suppose it had seemed presumptuous. He made me laugh again by dramatically flinging each one across the room. But when he tugged at the bottom of one leg of my trousers, I curled my legs up and smiled at him.

“You first,” I said, and he grinned—I don’t know why I thought he’d be reluctant to comply.

Seeing him without his tunic had left me speechless. Seeing him without his _trousers_ left me breathless, and of course my eyes were drawn to the only article of clothing he was still wearing, right where he’d placed my hand a moment ago. I was biting my lip before I even realized it, and then I surprised myself even more when I reached out automatically towards him…

He didn’t have to guide my hand this time. He was already kissing me again, and he groaned against my lips when I touched him through the fabric of his underwear.

“…This will be over very fast if you keep doing that,” he murmured, and I pulled my hand away, blushing, and he laughed.

I had been half-dreading becoming naked before him. Maybe there were some things you never quite got over, no matter how well you think you know a person, how eager you are to be with them. Nevertheless, he combatted my shyness by kissing me all over, shoulders, chest, and stomach, even the palms of my hands, as he slowly tugged at and undid the laces of my trousers. He pulled them over my hips as he pressed his lips against mine again, and I did the rest, shifting and gently kicking the trousers the rest of the way off.

He let me see him fully naked first. He teased, of course—I don’t think it was in his nature not to, and it made me feel less shy around him—but once I saw him, all my shyness seemed to rapidly dissipate. He kissed me again until we were finally both naked, and I wasn’t sure what would happen next—obviously, I knew about sex; I _wrote_ about it, and my mothers were very frank with me about such things, for the sake of my own physical and emotional well-being—but what I thought might happen, didn’t.

Instead, he slipped his hand between us as he kissed me, taking firm hold of us both. I moaned and kissed him back, and found myself clinging to him, fingertips digging into his shoulders. Soon I was panting, close—I murmured as much, and he said that he was close, too. I think I came before him; I felt his lips pressing ardently against my neck and jaw. Then when I saw him again, gazing up through half-lidded eyes, it was to see his face awash with pleasure as he shuddered against me.

Afterward, he kissed me and lay beside me, both of us breathing a bit heavily. I turned my head to gaze at him, and he did the same. Our eyes met, and we both started laughing.

Sex, I learned, was a messy thing, but he was quick to clean us both, and soon we were under the sheets where we belonged. I let myself cling to him, my arms wrapping around his middle, my cheek cradled against his neck and shoulder, one leg even hooked around his own. I was probably suffocating him, but I didn’t care. It had finally happened.

He truly _was_ my lover now.

I felt his fingers softly stroking through my hair and smiled. The ornament I’d used to tie it partially back, one that Casien had bought me, had been displaced during our lovemaking, and so my hair was loose again. The feel of his fingertips running methodically and tenderly over my scalp was making me sleepy, but it was such a pleasant feeling, I found myself wanting him to never stop.

A warm silence had fallen between us, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the occasional gusts of wind outside the palace—I think a storm was beginning to blow through.

“Ready to go again?” he asked, his soft voice breaking the silence.

I snorted, then laughed—I couldn’t help it—then gave his bare chest a smack. He laughed as well, then wrapped both arms around me and pulled me securely against him.

“That was as wonderful as I dreamed it would be,” he said, his voice serious now as he gazed into my eyes.

I smiled and tilted my head towards him, kissing him. He kissed me back, fingers stroking through my hair again. I sighed.

“So you truly aren’t angry with me for trying to find you out?” he asked, and when I must have given him a questioning look, he clarified, smiling—smirking, really: “ _Lorenya_.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling, too, now.

“I really don’t mind,” I said. “Like I said, I should have shown you a long time ago. I guess I was just…”

“Embarrassed?” he suggested, but I shook my head.

“I’m not embarrassed by what I write. I think I was somehow just afraid that if you read it… you’d somehow think less of me.”

“Think less of you…!” He frowned, and I couldn’t help blushing, for it was such a lovingly chastising look. “I could never ‘think less’ of you. But there’s no shame in what you write, Laurie. You tell stories that people long to hear. You help them escape from the dull drudgery of their everyday lives. You bring people joy—which is more than most of us can say about the work we try to do.”

“…You make me sound more important than I am,” I said, laughing a little.

“You are vastly important,” he said, kissing my forehead tenderly. “To me, and no doubt to many others.”

It was such a kind and passionate thing to say, I was too overcome to know to how to answer. He seemed to notice and sighed.

“I forget myself,” he said. “I am not to compliment my beloved, for it renders him speechless. But then, that also leaves him tantalizingly ripe for kissing…”

The sound that escaped me then came embarrassingly close to a giggle, but I don’t think I can be blamed for it. Even in bed, he was ever himself—the same charming, silly man who delighted in teasing me. I was only sorry I couldn’t make him blush in return the way I sometimes had in the past. I was too happy in that moment, still too shy in many ways, even if I was no longer shy at being physically together. But this new brand of intimacy between us was so new, I half-feared shattering it with my inexperience and my blundering. And so I simply smiled, and laughed, and let him kiss me as much as he desired.

He was right about one thing: it was every bit as wonderful as I’d dreamed it would be. All my life I’d dreamed of being in this exact situation. And now, here I was. The man I adored held me tenderly in his arms as he kissed me. He was a gentle lover, but a confident one, as well. Maybe in time I would feel free to take the initiative, but for now, I was all too happy to let him worship my body however he wished.

In novels, you often read of lovers spending the entire night together, so lost in one another that they scarcely notice the sun rising in the morning. Real life didn’t quite seem to work that way, especially when your lover was a forty-four-year-old man who, like everyone else, had probably had more mead that night than he should have had. After he showed me just how talented with his mouth he could _truly_ be—and I, completely blissed out afterward, unable to return the favor, though he didn’t seem to mind—I realized, after I felt capable of movement again, that he had actually fallen asleep.

He was on his stomach, one arm wrapped around me, his smiling face sharing the pillow and snuggling into my hair. I turned my head carefully, not wanting to disturb him, but I needn’t have worried. Soft snores soon followed, and I couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped out of me.

Normally, I would have joined him, but I felt strangely awake. True, I’d taken my tea very early that evening, so it couldn’t help me feel sleepy the way it normally did, but I’d had my fair share of mead, too, and frankly—well, he’d brought me over the brink of pleasure twice tonight. I really _should_ have been just as tired as he was, our differences in age notwithstanding.

I stayed curled up beside him for as long as I could, but after a while, when I realized I wasn’t going to be falling asleep anytime soon, I slipped carefully back out of bed. I wrapped myself in the blanket at the foot of the bed, but luckily was able to find a handsome silk robe hanging from the side of the floor-length mirror near the wardrobe. I kept the blanket anyway, as it had gotten rather chilly.

Back in the sitting room, I searched, quietly as possible, through the drawers of the desk until I found parchment and pen. Then I made myself comfortable on one of the sofa chairs and began to work on something I had been putting off for months, though I was never sure why: the scene where Francis and his guard captain spend their first night together.

It was only a rough draft, but it felt good to get it down. It ended with Francis lying in bed, gazing at his lover’s handsome sleeping face, not quite able to admit to himself that this had really happened. There was a lingering feeling of anxiety and fear that had somehow slinked its way into the scene, for the guard captain hadn’t technically left his wife yet, and Francis didn’t know if tomorrow things would go back to being just as they always had been.

My heart felt heavy when I finished, and I couldn’t help smiling and shaking my head at myself as I replaced the pen and spare parchment. I was not Francis, and my lover was no feckless guard captain. He was, in fact, still waiting for me in the next room, and he would, most definitively, still be there in the morning—and hopefully every morning thereafter. I crept back into the bedroom, slipped the robe off, and slid back under the sheets and blankets. He hadn’t stirred at all, and he didn’t stir then, even when I wrapped my arms around his middle and hugged him close to me. I closed my eyes, and soon fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally happened! They have touched each other's pee-pees 😔
> 
> I'm sure everything will be fine now!!!


	28. Chapter 28

I woke up, blinking, pre-dawn light streaming in through unfamiliar windows. Heavy curtains did their best to block the light, but it still managed to slip through, along with the faint sound of seagulls calling to one another and ship bells clanging from the harbor. The bed I was lying in was softer than I was used to, and the sheets were silk instead of cotton—and beside me was another person, pale skin warm beneath my own, for I still lay curled against him.

_It wasn’t a dream_. A silly thought, but it was one that brought a sleepy smile to my face nonetheless. I stroked my fingertips over the smoothness of his back as I gazed at his own slack features. His mouth was half-open, and the tiniest bit of drool had gathered on the pillow. I tried not to laugh, for it made me feel giddy to think that _this_ might be the blueprint for my mornings hereafter…

My bladder forced me to put the pleasant notion aside, long enough for me to slip out of bed, shrug into the robe again, and make my way to the toilet. Afterward, I was a little surprised to see that he hadn’t so much as moved—perhaps he really _had_ drunk more than either of us had realized, though that was really unlike him. Smiling, I sat back down on the mattress, curling my legs beneath me, and reached down to stroke my fingers through his short hair. When he still didn’t stir, I leaned down and kissed the side of his mouth, the prickle of his beard and mustache making me smile.

But the smile faded almost as soon as it had come.

He still hadn’t moved—not so much as a twitch of the lips or a flutter of the eyelids.

Panic bloomed almost instantly in my heart. I put two fingers to his throat, just under his jaw… then sighed, my eyes closing momentarily, for his heart was still beating, steady and strong. Yet when I tapped his cheek, there was no reaction whatsoever.

“…Falk?” I said, his name sounding tentative on my lips.

I patted his back and shoulder this time, then even forced myself to pinch him. Once, twice—so hard it left a pink bruise against his skin, but nothing seemed to work.

I tried to remain calm. I rolled him onto his back with some effort, even as the voice inside my head was yelling at me to go and get help. I called his name several more times, patting his cheek, shaking his shoulders desperately, but it all proved just as pointless as my previous efforts. Finally, heart pounding rather painfully in my throat now, I wrapped and tied the robe more firmly around my waist, ignored my shaking hands as I pulled my boots back on, then made my way quickly to the apartment’s front door.

I started off walking but quickly shifted into a run. I wasn’t sure at first who to go to; this early, the healer surely wouldn’t be in her office. But perhaps I’d meet a servant along the way, and could inquire where her room was.

I rounded the corner that led to the third floor staircase—and smacked right into someone.

“Laurie!” he said, taking a step back to steady himself while gripping me gently by the upper arms to steady me in turn.

It was Soren. A thousand words tried to tumble out of my mouth at once.

Instead, I began to cry.

“It’s Falk, isn’t it?” he said, still holding on to me. “The entire palace has fallen ill, it seems. Try to remain calm. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“…He won’t wake up!” I finally managed, wiping my face with shaking hands. “I tried and tried, but he wouldn’t!”

“I know. Come with me.”

He surprised me by taking my hand in his and leading me back the way I had come, back towards the jarl’s apartment. It was then that I noticed he wasn’t alone; Healer Errin was with him. She smiled when our eyes met, the expression tight with concern.

Back inside the apartment, I hurried back to my lover’s side, but his condition remained unchanged. I bit my lip as I reached out and stroked still-trembling fingers through his hair. After a moment, Soren put his hands on my shoulders, squeezing lightly, and gently moving me aside so Errin could examine her patient.

“The same,” she said after a while, straightening. I recognized the device she held in her hand: a metal piece designed to let the listener hear the patient’s heart. “No eye movement whatsoever, and pupils remain dilated, even under light. The significantly faster heartrate is what worries me the most.”

“You still suspect poison?” asked Soren.

Errin pursed her lips and nodded.

Poison! I went to sit by him again, taking one of his limp hands in both of mine. But how was that even possible? After a moment, I looked back up again, glancing from the healer to Soren.

“…The whole palace?” I said, still unable to believe it.

“Yes,” said Soren, sighing heavily. “At least everyone who attended the ball last night.” A faint smile came to his face then. “Everyone except you, it seems.”

“That _is_ odd,” Errin said. “Though it’s possible you did not come into contact with whatever was used to distribute the poison.”

Soren clear his throat.

“I apologize for the indelicacy, but—might it have something to do with his heritage?”

“It could,” she said, nodding slowly. “It would be helpful to know exactly what you are,” she added to me, “though I couldn’t say off the top of my head how even that would help. Khajiit and Argonians are often not susceptible to the same viruses that humans and mer are, for example, but…”

“I don’t think Laurie is either of those,” said Soren, smiling gently at me. “Altmer for sure. And perhaps Breton or Bosmer?”

“Folk of mixed heritage are rare,” said Errin, “so I fear we know little about them, medically speaking. It could very well be the reason you were spared, but I would have to know more.” She eyed me shrewdly. “And you feel nothing? No ill effects? No headache, stomach ache, nothing?”

I shook my head, absently squeezing my lover’s hand in my own.

“Laurie,” said Soren, his voice gentle again, “perhaps you could tell us your version of what happened. Did Falk seem at all ill last night, for example? Anything you can remember might be helpful.”

I tried to remember, to think and see if my lover had seemed in any way out of sorts. But all I could think about was what we had done together last night. I couldn’t stop picturing being in his arms as we kissed… or the silly smile on his face as he stripped off his tunic or trousers…

I looked down—I had to wipe another stray tear aside before it could slip down my cheek.

“…He… was tired,” I finally managed, my eyes meeting Soren’s again.

“Tired?”

I nodded.

“After we…”

I felt my cheeks flush. There was no proper way to put what I was trying to say, yet still I couldn’t quite say it.

“It’s all right,” Soren said, his voice soothing. “We understand, Laurie. Afterward—what happened?”

I took a quick, deep breath, and swallowed.

“He was tired,” I repeated. “I… didn’t know if that was normal. I thought it was his age…”

“True,” said Errin slowly, “it’s quite normal for a man his age to experience drowsiness after such activities. But, in your opinion, it seemed different?”

It was impossible to answer. Different from what? I had never slept with another man before, so I had nothing to compare it to, other than myself.

“What happened when he fell asleep?” asked Soren. “What were you doing?”

“…We were lying next to one another.” I hesitated and looked at Soren, who nodded encouragingly. “I turned to look at him, and he was asleep.” I frowned, remembering. “It seemed… very sudden. I did think it was odd, but I…”

I trailed off, watching as Soren and Errin exchanged a look. Finally, the healer sighed and shook her head.

“Unfortunately, all this seems to suggest is that the poison is slow to work its way into the victim’s system but is extremely fast acting once it does. If we can assume consumption took place at the banquet, that’s…”

“It was just after 9 p.m. when the jarl left the ball,” Soren supplied.

Errin nodded, calculating the time in her head.

“About a three or four hour incubation period,” she said. “That will help narrow down the likely possibilities. We have to assume at this point that the final effects will be lethal. I fear if we do not act fast…”

She hesitated before glancing at me, but before she could continue, she was interrupted by a knock at the outer door of the apartment.

“Enter,” said Soren, he and Errin both turning to face the bedroom entrance.

The woman who entered was unknown to me. She was armed and armored, the image of the Solitude wolf’s head emblazoned on the front of her armor, and kept her graying brown hair bound tightly behind her head. She was flanked by two other armed guards, both of whom paused at the doorway while she continued forward.

“Just like the others?” she asked, glancing at the bed and frowning.

“It would seem so,” said Soren. “What have you learned?”

“We’ve woken up the kitchen staff and they’re being individually questioned as we speak. I hardly think the perpetrator is still here, but someone will have seen something, mark my words. My working theory is that the fire in the storeroom last night was a distraction. While everyone was focused on that, it provided the perfect opportunity to distribute the poison.”

“Any guesses as to how that was done?”

“Easiest would be the mead. It was available to everyone, came from multiple sources but was collectively prepped in the cellar. Dozens of people could have passed through it last night.”

“…Casien said the mead was unusually strong,” I said, remembering.

They all turned and looked at me, and I naturally flushed under their scrutiny—especially that of the woman who was clearly the captain of the guard. She narrowed her eyes at me, as if she’d just noticed me.

“Who’s this?” she asked.

“This is Laurie,” said Soren, laying a hand on my shoulder—the gesture felt strangely protective. “The one the jarl was looking for just before the moot, if you recall.”

“Seems he found him,” she said, still frowning at me. “And he was unaffected?”

“Strangely, yes,” said Errin. “I’ve been unable to determine why, but it could be because—

“I should think the reason obvious,” said the captain, and I watched in alarm as her hand fell to her sword hilt.

“Captain Reyna,” said Soren sharply. “You cannot think that Laurie—

“Open your eyes, Soren,” she said. “The entire palace is unconscious—near death, as I understand it, and the only one who _isn’t_ is a mysterious elf from a foreign land who somehow wiggled his way into our jarl’s bed. That doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”

“I can assure you,” said Soren, “Laurie is innocent. His intentions certainly aren’t to—

“His _intentions_ seem blindingly obvious. I would have thought you above the allure of a pretty face.” She called over her shoulder to the two guards. “Markim! Roth!”

“I can’t allow you to take him,” said Soren, and his grip on my shoulder had become iron strong.

Beside me, Errin sat down on the bed, one hand on my other shoulder, the other coming to rest over my heart. Her eyes met mine, and that’s when I realized my whole body was trembling—I couldn’t draw enough air into my lungs, and my heart was racing faster than ever.

“You aren’t the jarl,” said Reyna. She paused, then added, calmly. “Don’t make me take him by force, Soren.”

“You can’t put the jarl’s beloved in prison while the jarl himself lies unconscious!” Soren finally snapped. “Reyna, this is madness! Surely even you can see the wrongness in it!”

But she ignored him, instead turning and nodding at the two guards again. They were both large, burly men, and I felt myself shrinking back against the bed as they approached. But Soren surprised me by stepping in front of me, placing himself bodily in front of the two men. They hesitated—I think laying their hands on the jarl’s steward was perhaps a step too far for them.

And it seemed to be for Captain Reyna.

“Soren…” she said, grinding the name out through her teeth.

“Confine him to his room, if you must,” said Soren. “But you _cannot_ put him behind bars. I won’t allow it.”

“A steward isn’t a jarl, no matter how close you two may be,” said Reyna, but then she sighed. “Fine. We’ll escort him to his room, but he’s not to leave, under _any_ circumstances.

“…No!” I said, when Soren turned to me. I looked from him to Errin, then reached desperately for my lover’s limp hand again, squeezing it between my own. “I can’t leave him!”

“We’ll take care of him,” said Soren, sitting down beside me and resting his hand on my shoulder again. “Everything will be fine. We’ll sort it out, I promise.”

“… _No_!” I said again, but when he gently pulled my hands away from my lover’s I didn’t resist. Instead, I started crying again, and I felt Errin rubbing my back, but I was utterly inconsolable in that moment. Soren placed his hand under my elbow and bid me to stand up beside him, so I did. I heard Errin telling me that I must try my very best to calm myself, that I was too distressed and would do myself serious harm if I did not.

“I will walk him back,” said Soren, his voice broking no argument. “He has a heart condition. He cannot be upset more than he already has been.”

“Markim and Roth will accompany you,” said Reyna. “Don’t look at me like that, Soren. In a few hours we could be looking at mass regicide. I know my duty to my country and to my jarl, and this is how I must serve him.”

“Believe me,” said Soren stiffly, “I’ll make sure the jarl remembers how you chose to serve him.”

I don’t remember much about that sad walk from the beautiful apartment I’d spent the night in back to my own little room. Soren retained gentle hold of me the entire time, for I never could stop weeping and begging him to take me back to Falk’s side. He remained silent, save to sometimes murmur kind nothings to me, patting my hand which he held in his own.

Once in my room, he bid me to sit down on the bed before bending to light the now cold hearth. He filled my kettle with water, and within a few minutes, had a steaming cup of tea ready for me to drink. I wanted to tell him that he should leave me be; I was in deep distress, but I was not unwell—unlike half the denizens of the palace. He was surely needed elsewhere right now. Instead, I sat there and watched and waited, a no doubt dumb expression on my face, and when he pressed the tea cup into my hands, I accepted it dutifully.

“I promise you,” he said, his hand on my knee now, squeezing lightly. “We will figure this out. You’ll be by his side again soon; I have little doubt of it.”

I couldn’t reply, but he didn’t seem to expect me to. Instead, he gave my knee a little pat before rising to his feet. I heard him say something to the guards apparently now stationed at my door before he closed it behind him. And then I was alone again.

Truthfully, I don’t know how my body stood it. I should have fallen to weeping again; I should have been struggling for breath. Instead I felt numb.

My eyes drifted towards my window, towards the rose garden, still damp from the storm that had swept through last night. I thought of that gentle afternoon over a month ago now, when I had boldly kissed his cheek—a move which had so embarrassed me I had immediately run away afterward. I don’t think I was being melodramatic for wondering in that moment if I would ever have the chance to kiss him again.

Finally, the tears began to fall again. My hands shook too much to hold my tea cup, so I set it down on my desk. When I returned to my bed, I could scarcely hold myself up long enough to settle back down onto it. I curled up into a ball, still in just a borrowed robe and my boots, and buried my face in my hands. I wonder if my sobbing affected the guards on the other side of the door at all.

Eventually, I could hear the light drizzle of rain outside my window, for I suppose the front wasn’t quite over yet. Rain or no rain, I could have climbed out the window if I’d truly wanted to escape, though I’m sure there were guards stationed all over the palace now. But why would I want to? All I wanted was to be allowed back at his side, for if he was to die, I wished to be near him, to hold his hand and stroke his hair and whisper to him that I loved him—that I had loved him for an awfully long time now, and that I would continue to love him, long after he passed on into the next world.

What happened to the lover of a dead jarl? I imagined returning home to my mothers, who still thought me the happiest I had ever been, basking in the devotion of a good man. How they would hold me and soothe me and weep with me! Life would never be the same again, and I wouldn’t quite know how to return to the home I had left only a few months ago. My thoughts would forever be caught up in a pair of amber eyes and a pair of strong arms that held me so tenderly as their owner lavished my body with kisses.

If any proof were ever needed that I was not cut out for this life, there it was. For my lover and my friends lay dying all around me, yet all I could do was lie in my bed and weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	29. Chapter 29

Somehow, though I’m not quite sure how, I fell asleep.

It was still raining when I awoke. It was too hard to tell where the sun was with the clouds still so heavy and gray, but I didn’t think it was yet noon. My pillow was still damp. Had I cried even in my sleep?

After a moment, I forced myself to sit up. My tea was still sitting on the desk, and I supposed I should heat it up and finish it off. Not that that sort of thing seemed to really matter anymore.

I supposed I should get dressed, too.

I tried not to think of my clothes still lying on the floor of his bedroom as I made my way towards the wardrobe. I also tried not to think of how he how bashful he’d looked after gifting me all the fine tunics now hanging there as I opened the doors. Of course, I was fairly unsuccessful at both.

I dressed simply, or as simply as I could with what had been given me. (I didn’t pull my old clothes on from home—that would have seemed too awful, as if I were admitting defeat already.) But it was hard not to wonder what might happen, should the worst come to pass. I hadn’t technically paid for any of this. Would someone finally come by, seeking recompense? But no—Soren would see that I was looked after.

I knew that I should eat, but I couldn’t. Besides, I had no food, and I was too afraid to open the door and see if anything had been left for me.

I ended up sitting on the bed, staring at my lute in its case but unable to reach for it and take it out. Playing had always comforted me, even during my darkest moments. It was during one such moment, after all, when Falk and I had first met. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do so now.

A knock at the door made me start. I stared at it for a moment before slowly forcing myself to get to my feet and walk towards it.

When I opened the door, it was Soren. He smiled—he looked very tired, but that he could spare such a warm smile for me—that he would even bother to come and see me, despite everything that had to be happening—

I’m certain I surprised us both when I suddenly found myself closing the distance between us and wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.

“Oh, goodness,” he said, chuckling softly, though he did return the embrace. I felt him patting my back and tried very hard not to start crying again. I suppose I was just feeling very alone, very frightened, and very much missing the comforting presence of anyone and everyone I had come to rely on.

“Come now,” he murmured, pulling away from me and giving me that warm smile again. “Let’s sit down for a moment. I’ve good news, at least.”

This lightened my heart considerably, so I went and sat down on the bed and waited for him to close the door behind him before joining me.

“Is he…?”

But before I could finish, he put his hand on my arm and shook his head.

“Now don’t despair,” he said, when my expression no doubt plummeted. “Every healer, apothecary, and herbalist in the city has been summoned. We _will_ figure this out. In the meantime… the prognosis is not great, but the progression appears to be slow. We have time.”

I let his words settle inside me, slowly obscuring the hope which had briefly risen in my heart. I bit my lip, then forced myself to take a deep breath—then met his eyes again, frowning.

“You said you had good news…?”

“I do indeed. I have spoken further with Reyna and convinced her that it is categorically wrong for her to imprison you like this. I can grant her that, from an entirely objective perspective, it is unusual that you were not affected and that that should be investigated. But that does not immediately implicate you. Furthermore, one who is so highly regarded by our jarl requires respect from those who serve him. She knows this. And should he awake—that is, _when_ he awakes, and he learns of how she treated you, she will be lucky to keep her position. I helped her realize that.”

I blinked, confused at first, for he hadn’t exactly said what my situation was now.

“So… I don’t have to stay here?”

“You are free to roam the palace, but I ask that you not leave—not that I imagine you would want to.” He smiled when I anxiously shook my head. “Unfortunately, a guard will have to accompany you everywhere you go. This is the compromise I managed to reach with Reyna, and I feel it’s a fair one. I have spoken to the man she assigned to you and have made it clear to him that you are to be treated with the dignity and respect I’m certain our jarl would have insisted upon were he able to do so.”

To know that I was no longer considered a prisoner was an immense and immediate relief. I’m not sure I even realized how much that had been pressing down upon me. But I suppose I still needed absolute clarification about one point in particular. I looked at him again, anxious.

“Does that mean I can see him?” I asked.

When he smiled and nodded, I couldn’t help myself. I flung my arms around him again. I heard him make a surprised sort of ‘ _oof_ ’ sound as he returned the hug and actually laughed a little. I felt a smile start to curl on to my face—but, of course, the sober reality of the situation quickly came crashing back down around me. I sighed and pulled back again.

When I asked if I might go and see him now, he said that I could. Furthermore, he said that he would walk with me, though he would have to leave me afterward, for he naturally had a great deal to attend to.

“This is Aldrik,” he said, nodding at the guard who was waiting for us in the hallway. “He is the one I told you about.”

“…Hello,” I said, trying not to let on how much the large, armored man who actually towered over me slightly terrified me.

He didn’t reply, merely nodded his head at me. He didn’t smile, but nor did he seem angry or ready to skewer me for supposedly poisoning his jarl, so I let myself relax, at least a little bit.

“I must ask that you not to speak to anyone outside the palace,” said Soren, as we began to make our way back towards the third floor. “We’re trying to keep information about what’s happening confined to the palace and a few of the great houses for as long as we can.”

I frowned, for as usual I found it difficult to wrap my head around such things.

“But… people have loved ones…”

A great pain seemed to seize hold of me then, for I hadn’t had a chance to really spare a thought for my friends. But Jon and Casien were both unconscious, too, suffering from the same poison that all the others were. Suppose they never recovered? Olfina would never see her husband again… and Casien’s family, whom he spoke of so often with such fondness, would never see him again, either.

“The hope at present is that we won’t _have_ to tell them,” said Soren in a soothing tone of voice I was beginning to find familiar. “At least not until we have good news.”

“…But… you don’t know for certain that we can save them.”

I glanced at him as we walked. His expression became briefly grim, almost haggard.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t. But we’re trying, Laurie. You must believe that.”

I didn’t have room in my heart to think about what could happen if they failed. Most of the leaders of Skyrim, not to mention northern High Rock—dead. _Murdered_. I was no political expert, but even I knew that this would have immediate, catastrophic repercussions throughout the entire world—and that that was likely the intention.

But at present all I could truly focus on were the people I loved. Soren left me once we reached the jarl’s apartment; he promised he would return as soon as he had any news. Aldrik the guard followed me into the sitting room, but at least he paused in the doorway to the bedroom. There were two guards stationed outside the main door, too, but I supposed they were for security purposes and had nothing to do with me.

I expected there to be someone—Healer Errin or some other healer, perhaps, but there wasn’t. I hurried to his bedside, not really caring that I could feel the guard’s eyes on me the entire time.

“I’m sorry,” I said, curling my legs up under me as I sat down beside him and stroked his hair. “I should have _done_ something last night. I should have realized…”

I wiped away the tears that had gathered in my eyes and leaned down to press my lips lightly against his own. He was, of course, unresponsive. I stroked his cheek and shifted to lie down beside him, wrapping my arm around his chest.

“Soren is very determined,” I said, resting my cheek against his bare shoulder. “I think if anyone can fix this, he can. I know you’re going to wake up again soon, and if you’re still unwell, you’ll get better. And then I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

I don’t know why I kept talking when I knew he couldn’t hear me. But I couldn’t seem to help it. I apologized again for not letting him read my stories, and assured him that as soon as he was well again, I would read them to him. I would play for him, too—all of his favorite songs, all of the ones he liked to ask me to sing when we were alone together in the garden. I promised any and everything I could think of—to help him with his work, if he needed it, to fetch his favorite things to eat from the kitchens, to make certain he stayed as warm and comfortable as possible.

A throat clearing from behind me made me go still, then blush as I quickly sat up and looked behind me. It was Healer Errin.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, smiling a little. “I just need to check his vitals and see if the tincture I mixed up is having an effect.”

I nodded and shifted further down the bed so that she could sit down near him and do what she needed to do. I watched as she listened to his heart, then his breathing. She checked his pupils again, then felt for a fever—all of this she wrote down quickly in a little notebook she was carrying. I noticed it was quite full, and supposed she was monitoring as many of the patients as she could, if not all of them.

When she sighed and closed the notebook, I gave her a hopeful look, but she only shook her head.

“No significant change for the better,” she said. “And, unfortunately…” But she paused and looked at me again, a hasty little smile coming to her face. “Well, never mind that. I believe we have time to keep searching for an antidote of some sort. And now I must ask: how are _you_ feeling?”

“… All right,” I said, and when she pursed her lips at me, I sighed. “A little tired. And… I feel strange. But not so… not like this morning.”

I lay my hand absently over my heart and tried so very hard not to think of the horrible events from this morning, but the wave of fear and panic that washed over me was inevitable.

“Deep, steady breaths,” she said, her voice taking on a calm, soothing quality. “You’ve been so strong so far, Laurie. He needs you to keep being strong.”

I nodded, closing my eyes briefly and doing as she asked, taking long, careful, deep breaths. It was a familiar exercise, and in a minute or so, I felt more myself again.

“An extra cup of tea would probably not go amiss,” she advised, smiling, “if you can manage to pull yourself away from him, that is.” She stood up, tucking her pen, notebook, and medical implements back into her bag. “In the meantime, keep talking to him. We don’t really know if he can hear or us not, but it certainly can’t hurt.”

I nodded, feeling myself flush a little again, though I was grateful that she hadn’t teased me for finding me snuggled against my beloved, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear.

Once she left, I moved to reclaim my spot beside him, though I refrained from lying down again. Instead, I gazed down at him and stroked the back of my fingers gently over his cheek. Perhaps it was selfish of me, but there was a part of me that felt robbed of something I’d been looking forward to my whole life. This morning, when I awoke, I should have woken up in his arms… should have felt the gentle press of his lips against my skin, should have rejoiced in the memory of what we’d done together last night…

Instead, I was here, gazing down at his still, handsome face, wondering if he would ever open his eyes again.

I hastily banished the thought before it could consume me, leaning down instead and pressing a quick, firm kiss to his forehead. I stroked his hair back, then kissed him again. I knew I could easily lie here with him, fold my body around his, and press my teary eyes into his pale, warm skin, but I also knew I shouldn’t do that. It wouldn’t help either of us.

What I decided to do instead was visit my friends. Errin had said that speaking to Falk might actually help him. If this were true, then I should go and speak to Jon and Casien as well. I owed them that much at least.

I didn’t look at Aldrik as I passed him, though I heard the sound of him as he turned to follow me, sword hilt clanking against his mail as he walked. I walked quickly, perversely enjoying making him pick his pace up. He probably had it in mind that I was about to hatch some nefarious plan, and only he now stood between me and it. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as I walked.

The halls were painfully empty. There were usually servants bustling about, changing linens, cleaning rooms, delivering food. But the palace seemed at a stand-still, like an enchanted castle in a Breton fairy tale. I still saw the occasional servant, but they looked harried, anxious, and always closing the guest room doors behind them. Soren had said healers and apothecaries had been gathered from around the city; I supposed they, too, must be scattered throughout the palace, tending to each of the patients.

Jon’s was the first room I came to. Like Falk, he was alone. He lay on his back, his head in the center of his pillow, arms placed neatly at his sides over the sheets of his bed. The fire had been built up, so though it was rather chilly out, on account of the passing storm, it was warm enough that I didn’t notice his bare skin prickling in the exposed air. Then again, he was a Nord. He, Karita, and Falk had always claimed they didn’t feel the cold the same way I did.

Nevertheless, I took the blanket from the end of his bed and laid it over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders before seating myself beside him on the bed. I stroked his hair the way I had my lover’s and smiled as I gazed down at his handsome face. He had been such a good friend to me, he and Karita both. I knew he missed his wife terribly, and I wanted them reunited as quickly as possible, but I would be sad to see him go, nonetheless.

“You’ll have to invite me to Whiterun,” I said quietly. “I want to see the beautiful golden fields you love to write about so much. And I want to meet Olfina, and all your friends and cousins. We can go riding outside the city, and you can show me the waterfall, too, and the meadow where you told Olfina you loved her.”

I stayed for as long as I could—until I ran out of things to talk about, really. I told him how much I loved his writing, how much I loved _him_ , for he was such a kind and thoughtful person, and I was very lucky to have him in my life. I thanked him for being so patient with both myself and Falk, and teased him for channeling his own loneliness into ensuring success in our relationship.

Eventually, I kissed his forehead as I had my lover’s, and told him good-bye. I met Aldrik’s eyes briefly as I passed him. I thought he looked at least a little bit thoughtful, and hoped it meant he was at least beginning to reassess his opinion of me (assuming I had even been right about his opinion of me in the first place).

There were guards stationed at the door to Casien’s apartment—Stormcloak soldiers, I realized, judging by the armor. They both eyed me as I approached, but when one put her hand on her sword hilt, the other held his own hand up, halting her.

“It’s Lord Casien’s friend,” he told her, then he nodded at me.

I recognized him after a moment. He was one of the soldiers who’d been sent to fetch Casien when he and I had had our day in the city.

“I… just wanted to see him…” I said, suddenly nervous, though he and the other guard had never been anything but polite and kind towards me.

“Of course,” he said, then he actually moved to open the door for me.

I moved to slip inside, but when my heavily-armed shadow attempted to do the same—

“Not you,” said the Stormcloak soldier.

“I go where he goes,” said Aldrik, his own hand now going to his sword hilt.

Naturally, the two Stormcloak soldiers responded by reaching for their own weapons.

“Wait!” I cried, half-startling myself, let alone the others.

All three paused to look at me, expressions taunt.

“…Captain… Captain Reyna assigned…” I paused, swallowing and taking a breath. “…assigned you to me because she doesn’t trust me. …Yes?”

Aldrik hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded—almost reluctantly, I noted.

“Then, maybe… a compromise…?”

I laid my hand on the arm of the man who knew me. He furrowed his brow at me, but it was the woman who spoke up first.

“You’d have him go in and watch you instead of the big guy here,” she said, nodding at Aldrik.

I nodded back.

The man glanced at me, then at Aldrik.

“Seems a fair compromise,” he said, shrugging. “I’m loyal to my king. I’ll not let anyone harm him or Lord Casien.”

Aldrik was silent for a moment, then:

“All right.”

I breathed a sigh of relief before turning and continuing into the apartment. The Stormcloak soldier—I couldn’t remember his name, unfortunately—clanked along behind me, but like Aldrik, he didn’t follow me into the bedroom.

If the empty hallways had made me think of a scene from some sad fairy tale, the sight of a great king and his prince, lying still and silent, side-by-side in their bed, did so even more. This morning I had probably cried more than I had in my entire life, yet I found my throat getting tight yet again, seeing the two of them together like that. This time, however, there was a healer, though I didn’t recognize her. She sat on the opposite end of the bed from where I was, and was busy tending to the high king.

“You must be the jarl’s lover,” she said, glancing up from her efforts. She didn’t smile at me, but there was no venom or mockery in her tone of voice, either. “The half-blood Altmer with the miraculous immune system.”

She was Altmer herself. As I was used to being an object of either scorn or pity from other mer, her words rather washed right over me. After a moment, I came and sat down gingerly on Casien’s side of the bed, taking his small hand in both of mine and gazing sadly down at his round, sleeping face.

“Any news…?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Nothing good at least. Not a thing any of us tries seems to work, and we still haven’t a clue what the poison may have been. It could have even been a combination of things, which would make the antidote all the more difficult to obtain.” She frowned, leaning down for a second and listening to the high king’s heart with her instrument. “What worries me most is the increased heart rate. And it seems to be getting faster by the hour.”

Alarm struck me like a clapper to a bell—this was something Errin had certainly _not_ told me. But it rang true, too, for I could easily recall Soren’s grim frame of mind this morning as we’d walked back to the jarl’s apartment this morning. Which could only mean one thing: both he and Errin had known about the worrying prognosis but had consciously refrained from telling me.

I looked down at my hands still holding Casien’s. His hand was so little and smooth. The black and silver wedding ring on his finger was the only piece of jewelry I had ever seen him wear. I was little surprised to find my own hands shaking.

“…So they will die,” I finally managed. “If… If we don’t find a cure.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she said, replacing her instrument in her bag and getting to her feet. “But that does seem to be the case. Divines guide our hands. I’m afraid that’s all we can ask for at this point.”

I waited until she had finished packing up her things and left before finally closing my eyes. I bit my lip and sniffed and wiped my nose carefully on my sleeve, for I still held Casien’s hand in mine.

“…That won’t happen,” I said, my throat now painfully tight. “I promise… we won’t let you die. The healers will save you, and your husband, too.”

I turned to gaze at the slack face of the high king. He was bare-chested, unlike his husband, who was wearing what looked like an over-large undertunic. Ulfric, strangely enough, seemed no less intimidating in sleep, his brow as firm and heavy as always, his lips turning slightly down at the corners. But I had lost all my fear and trepidation around him. When he had offered me his hand last night, it was as though I could finally see him just as Casien always had: a large man, yes, but a man with an even larger heart—even if he did like to hide it behind a perpetual scowl of disapproval.

“You were right,” I said to Casien again, gazing down at him. “There was something more that Rin wasn’t telling us. If only we’d all listened to you…”

Not that I thought Rin had anything to do with what had happened. After all, he and Alain also currently lay dying in their bed (assuming they were even in the same bed after what had happened last night). I don’t know why, but I found myself searching frantically for someone, anyone, to blame. Obviously not Rin, but I couldn’t dredge up any sort of anger or resentment towards his husband, either. I understood the predicament he had been in, at least as well as I could. He had only wanted to protect his country and his people. And now, _this_ had happened.

Maybe I should be mad at the Dominion, or the Empire, or whomever it was that was responsible for this, or even responsible for making Alain feel he had to take such drastic measures in the first place. But it didn’t make me feel any better. I was still going to lose so many people I had come to care for—not least of which was my own beloved.

I felt a sudden intense urge to see him. Guilt suffused me, as if I suddenly felt it had been very wrong of me to ever leave his side in the first place. He shouldn’t be in his room, alone, with no one to love him or care for him. And I could do a great deal—I _should_ be doing a great deal. Tend the fire, open the windows, adjust his bedcovers—press water to his lips—I knew little of nursing, but I would be an apt pupil.

It would give me something to do, for if I did not do _something_ —

I banished whatever sinister, despairing thought tried to wiggle its way into my brain and instead kissed my friend’s hand before laying it gently on his chest. I stood up again and made my way out of the room, passing the Stormcloak soldier and continuing out past the outer door to the apartment. I heard Aldrik take up his usual position behind me, but paid him little mind.

I didn’t make my way immediately back to the jarl’s apartment. Instead, I returned to my own room, for I intended to stay with my lover, for as long as I was needed, either until he awakened or until—

I bit my lip, hard, and once again ignored the wiggling little thought. I grabbed my old backpack and filled it with spare clothing, my hairbrush and toothbrush, and other things I’d need for an extended stay. I didn’t think I’d get any writing done, but I stuffed my manuscript in anyway—perhaps I could read to him. My lute—I could play and sing for him, too. I packed it into its case and slipped the strap over my neck and shoulder.

Lastly, of course, was my tea. Errin had advised I have an extra dose this morning or afternoon, and I probably should have taken her advice. My heart gave a small, uncomfortable stutter in my chest, the way it often did, often for seemingly no reason at all. It was a sensation I had grown used to, but the tea had certainly lessened the intensity of such feelings. I set my backpack and lute down and went to open the canister, the tea sachets’ herbal scent floating up towards me. I went to grab a handful—

Then paused.

I had made myself a cup just before the ball, in hopes of settling my nerves.

And now I was the only one who hadn’t succumbed to the poison.

I dropped the lid and took a step back, my heart now rattling in my chest.

_“What worries me most is the increased heart rate.”_ I lay my hand over my own heart, which even now beat painfully fast against my ribs. My heart was weak, the village healer had once explained to me, but the tea would make it stronger. It would help to calm my anxious thoughts, help to ease my mind enough so I could sleep at night. But, most importantly, it would help to lessen the frantic, unnatural beating of my heart.

I grabbed the canister of tea, hugging it to my chest, and hurried out of the room. I half-expected Aldrik to stop me—perhaps he’d even mistaken my packing a moment ago for my planning to run away—but he didn’t. He heard him behind me, but all I could think about was the tea in my arms and the need to get it to those who needed it.

I paused at the end of the hallway, my heart still pounding in my chest. What should I do? Where should I go? Suppose I was wrong; suppose it had all been just a coincidence; suppose Soren were right, and it was my heritage which had saved me from the effects of the poison…?

“…Soren,” I whispered, the name getting caught in the back of my throat.

I was so unused to yelling; it was unnatural for me, but—

“…Soren!” I cried again, forcing myself to project my voice. “SOREN!”

I started running again. I ran until I came to the main staircase, the one that led to the second floor guest rooms. I took the steps two at a time; I could already feel my lungs laboring to pull in each breath.

“SOREN!!”

At the top of the stairs, I had to pause, half-bent over the railing as I struggled to catch my breath. I heard several of the guest room doors open and close, and when I looked up again, servants and healers alike were hurrying towards me.

“Who’s that?” I heard someone ask.

“The jarl’s new lover,” came the reply, and then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, still gasping for breath.

“Are you all right, my boy?” asked the elderly man, who was now staring intently at me with some concern. I didn’t recognize him, and supposed he must be one of the local healers who’d been called in.

“Laurie…?”

I looked behind me, and there hurrying up the stairs was Soren. Of course—he must have been in his office, which was on the first floor, not the second or third.

“Soren!” I grabbed hold of him with my free hand; he in turn grabbed hold of me, steadying me. “Soren, it’s—the tea—I—

“Try to calm down,” he said, his expression etched with concern. “The tea… yes, this is your tea, isn’t it? Is something wrong with it?”

“No!” I said. “No, it’s—!

But I couldn’t get the words out any longer. I needed to sit down; I needed to breathe. The old healer who’d moved aside when Soren had appeared told everyone else to move back, to give me some air. There must have been no chairs or sofas nearby, for I felt Soren tug me gently by the elbow, until I was sitting down on the top stair, leaning against the balustrade and clutching at my canister of tea with both hands now.

“Someone find Errin!” said Soren.

I tried to shake my head, to tell him I was perfectly fine; I just needed a moment to try and catch my breath. It was ridiculous that they should be worrying themselves over me when so many other people lay dying all around us.

“The tea…” I said, and now I was finding it difficult to keep my eyes open.

“Laurie, you _need_ to calm yourself,” said Soren, squeezing my arm. “Don’t speak. Just try to breathe.”

I finally closed my eyes and nodded, for at this point I had to concede that he was right. After a moment, I was aware of another person kneeling down before me; they placed one hand on my knee and the other just under my jaw, as though feeling for my pulse. I opened my eyes and stared wearily at Healer Errin.

“I promise you,” she said, a warm little smile on her face, “We will listen to whatever it is you have to say. But first: close your eyes again and breathe with me. Slow and even, all right? To the count of ten.”

I nodded and did as she asked. I was used to listening to healers. I’d been following their rules and swallowing their medicines since I’d been a boy. When I was very little, I actually quite enjoyed going into town to see the healer, for it meant my mothers would buy me a sweet treat to eat afterward.

“Now,” said Soren, once I’d managed to get my breathing under control, “what’s this about tea?”

“…I had some,” I said, and though I tried to remain calm, I could feel my heart beginning to beat rapidly again. “Last night.” I looked from him to Errin. “The tea, it’s…”

“BY ALL THE DIVINES!” cried Errin, rearing back in alarm. She gaped at me, then down at my canister of tea. “Of course!! Why did it never occur to me, not once?!”

“Why did _what_ never occur to you?” asked Soren, clearly confused.

“Hilde! Oliver! Take these, distribute them—gods above and below and all around us, this is it, this has to be it!”

She grabbed handfuls of tea sachets and passed them out to the surrounding servants and healers, instructing them to let the tea steep for several minutes before administering it to each patient.

“The _tea_?” said Soren, his eyes finally widening. He looked at me. “And _this_ is why you were unaffected…!”

“Even if it doesn’t fully reverse the effects of the poison, it _must_ be why Laurie wasn’t taken ill,” said Errin. “I should have realized it. All of the signs and symptoms were staring me in the face!”

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Soren, “And I would advise caution. We don’t know for certain that this will work, do we?”

“No, we don’t. But we’re about to find out.”

She stood up, then offered me her hand, helping to pull me back up to my feet. Soren stood up as well.

“I’ll take this to him,” she said. “ _You_.” She pointed a finger at me, narrowing her eyes. “No running. No shouting. Calm breaths, even steps, happy thoughts. Understood?”

When I nodded, she turned to Soren.

“Stay with him. First sign of breathing difficulties, you stop, you sit. There’s no reason to rush,” she added to me. “It will take time for the water to boil and the tea to steep.”

“Well,” said Soren, watching as she made her way quickly towards the third floor stairwell, “we’d best do as commanded.” He smiled at me. “Shall we?”

He bid me to put my arm around his shoulders, so I did; he wrapped a corresponding arm around my waist, not quite holding me, but offering me support, should I need it. I’m certain I would have walked much faster on my own, which was probably why Errin had expressly forbid it. Soren forced me to walk at a maddeningly slow pace, and when we went up the stairs, he even made us pause midway for a few minutes.

“You needn’t look at me like that,” he chided, lips twitching. “You don’t wish to be too out of breath to kiss him when he wakes, do you?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t quite keep the smile from spreading onto my own face.

“Do you know…” He slipped his arm around my waist again as we continued, and I had to privately confess that I did feel less light-headed than I had only a few minutes ago. “He used to daydream about you? Quite a lot, really.”

I wasn’t really sure what to say to that, though I could feel the warmth rising in my cheeks.

“…You’re teasing me,” I finally managed to say.

“Not at all, though I did think to tease him one day. _Who is she?_ I asked. He blushed—the first time I’d seen him do so in many years—and told me, without hesitation, _No one_. Yet when I saw you in the garden later that day, I knew exactly who you were. _No one is awfully pretty, isn’t he?_ I said. He didn’t much care for that.”

“…I thought I’d never see him again,” I said, and I could feel my own blush increase, for I had been so certain that I was nothing to him, even though he’d twice been so kind to me. He had clearly been a great, important sort of person, and I was just a poor farmer’s son, lost in a new city.

“He thought the same of you. _He has eyes like the sky before a rainstorm_ , he told me. _I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life_. He was convinced you could never care for him. Naturally, that was before you came to live in the palace, though I still had to threaten him to ask you to dinner.”

“Threaten him!”

“Oh, yes. I said if _he_ did not go and ask you to dinner, then I would go and do it for him. It seemed to do the trick.”

I couldn’t help laughing at this, for I could well remember how nervous he had seemed that evening. I remembered thinking how silly it was that he thought I needed an entire hour to prepare for dinner with him, as though I, too, were a great person. And then, of course, I had used that entire hour up, panicking about my sudden date with the jarl.

We were finally at the outer door to the jarl’s apartment. Soren gestured for me to enter before him, so I did.

“Laurie,” said Errin, looking over her shoulder at me from where she sat on the side of the bed, “Come here.”

I entered the bedroom and made my way towards her.

“You’re going to help me, all right? First, let’s roll him onto his side.”

I removed my boots so I could climb onto the bed, shifting over my lover so I could sit opposite the healer. Together, we carefully moved him until he was lying on his side; I assumed this was so that the tea would not accidentally drip down into his lungs.

“Here,” she said, dipping a cloth into the mug of tea before handing it to me. “Open his mouth and hold this to his lips. It may take time, but he should eventually swallow.”

I did as she instructed; it was difficult at first, but I soon had the cloth properly positioned, the fingers of my other hand absently stroking through his hair. The tea she set down nearby on the nightstand. We were going to have to be patient, she said, for it would take a very long time for his body to absorb the tea and receive its medicinal benefits. Then she and Soren both left me, promising to return soon, for they must check and make certain all those afflicted were being so diligently tended.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I wasn’t entirely sure how often I was to dip the cloth into the tea, for it stayed quite damp in his mouth. It also leaked onto the bedsheets, wetting and staining them, but that seemed hardly important at present. They had already been changed once today while I was gone, and I didn’t care to think why that may have been.

The first time I saw his throat move and quietly swallow, my heart leapt with hope in my chest.

The minutes ticked by. I began to sing to him, very softly, starting with those songs I knew to be his favorites. Then I sang the first song he had ever heard me sing: “The Ballad of Dunlain Falls.” To compare my heart then and now—I had been in such despair, such feelings of loss and fear and self-hatred. Now, despite everything, I felt hope. Something inside me told me I would sometime soon kiss my beloved again, and we would talk and laugh as we always had. I just had to be patient, as Errin had instructed.

And then, his eyelids began to flutter.

I lay the cloth aside and quickly settled him back onto his back. The pounding of my heart became acutely painful; it left me weak and light-headed, but I was too overjoyed to pay it any mind. I stroked his cheek and bent down to kiss him. And when I sat up again, his eyes were open.

He gazed up at me for a moment, as though confused by what he was seeing. Then he smiled.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” I replied, laughing.

I ran my fingers through his hair. I don’t think he’d ever looked as beautiful to me as he did right then. His smile turned pensive, his brow furrowing slightly

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I love you,” I said.

He blinked, then his smile widened.

“That’s the first time you’ve said ‘I love you’.”

I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I leaned down and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him fiercely to me. I felt him laugh and return the embrace, but then he started coughing. I released him quickly and sat back up again, gazing down at him with anxious concern.

“Oof,” he muttered, bringing one hand to his temple. “I have the worst headache. Did I really drink that much?”

“It wasn’t the mead,” I said. “Well, it _was_ the mead, but… it’s too confusing. I can’t explain it. I’m just so happy you’re all right!”

I kissed him again, and lay down to wiggle beside him as I did. I felt his arms slip around me, pulling my body close against his own, my clothing and the bedcovers the only thing separating us.

“…Ah. Laurie?”

I pulled away, just enough to gaze down into his beautiful, amber eyes… which were glancing sideways now, away from me.

“Why are Soren and Errin standing by my bedside, smiling at us?”

I glanced up, met Soren and Errin’s beaming gazes—and all three of us burst out laughing.

Naturally, I let the two of them explain to my lover all that had happened. They had wonderful news to impart, too: all of the patients were responding positively to the tea, though some far better than others. Whatever poison the mead had been laced with, it had also highly upped the alcohol toxicity. Not surprisingly, those who had consumed the most mead last night were thus the most affected by the poison. 

“King Alain…” I said, for he had certainly been the most inebriated of anyone I had interacted with last night.

Errin shook her head.

“Still unconscious. But his heartrate has slowed significantly, and that’s a very good sign. I have every hope that he, too, will eventually awaken.”

Soren cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid I must report that Lord Casien has also not yet woken. The healer tending him believes it’s related to his own condition. Something about an inability to fight off illness as well as he should.”

“Try not to worry,” said Errin, for I supposed I must have had a rather horrified expression on my face upon hearing about my friend. “I believe, like King Alain and some of the others, he will recover. It will just take time.”

I nodded, and when I felt my lover squeezing my hand in his, I looked down—to my surprise, he was gazing up at me, anxious concern in his own eyes. And I almost had to laugh, for here he had nearly been at death’s door himself, yet he was concerned for _me_!

“Well, this is certainly not quite the farewell I intended to give our guests,” he said, after finally looking away from me to the others. “But before you two run off again—and before I forget to do so—let me thank you both. I’ve no doubt you handled this with efficiency and discretion. And perhaps most importantly…”

He glanced at me again, both his hands taking my own now.

“…Thank you for taking care of Laurie. I’m certain this was… very difficult for him.”

“We’re both very fond of Laurie,” said Soren, his kind voice softening. “It will always be my honor and my pleasure to assist him.”

“Indeed,” said Errin, “Which is why I must now ask him: Laurie, have you eaten anything today?”

When my guilty silence was the only reply, she shook her head and _tsk_ ed under her breath.

“As I suspected. Well, you’re to remain here with the jarl until you both have eaten. Soup for the patient, but you’re to receive a proper meal. And don’t feed any of it to your doe-eyed lover; his stomach will still be sensitive from the poison, and I’ve already had to have these sheets changed once.”

“…Oh, wonderful,” said Falk, his cheeks slowly turning red beneath his beard. “Thank you.”

This time we all started laughing. I think it was relief more than anything, but it felt good nonetheless. Errin left first; she again had other patients to tend to, but she reminded me once again that I was not to leave this room until she gave me the all clear. I supposed my little episode on the stairwell had rather concerned her.

Soren, not surprisingly, stayed much longer. He and Falk discussed the situation—what had been done so far, who knew what, how to facilitate communication between everyone while they all lay recovering in their beds—but, most importantly, who had done this, and how. On that last note, Soren had precious little information to give him, but he said that Captain Reyna was on the case. The name made me flinch, and Soren seemed to notice, but he evidently decided now was not the time to inform Falk of what had happened earlier.

“Come,” said my lover, once Soren had left. “Lie down with me.”

I did so, snuggling against him and looping an arm around his waist. I sighed and nuzzled his bare shoulder with my cheek, and smiled when I felt his fingers stroke through my hair.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” he said, his gentle voice tinged with regret. “I wanted last night to be special for you… for us.”

“…It _was_ special,” I insisted, though it was hard to erase from my mind the fact that he’d fallen unconscious as early as last night, and I hadn’t even realized it. It left me feeling… guiltier than I had been aware of right up until that moment.

“Then why do you still look so sad?” he asked.

I lifted my head in surprise. He smiled and stroked the back of his fingers against my cheek.

“…I’m not sad,” I managed. “I just… wish I had….”

“Laurie…” He lay his palm against my cheek now, as though steadying me. “This was not in any way, shape, or form your fault. Yes, I’m sorry this happened. But we will have many, many more nights together. And just as many mornings afterward.”

What could I do then but kiss him? He was right; I knew he was right. Yet I could admit to a certain level of uncertainty even now fluttering in my chest.

As always, I found my thoughts turning to what our life together would entail. He had once insisted that being a jarl didn’t mean his life was any more dangerous or eventful than the average person’s. I don’t think he’d been coddling me at the time; I think he’d truly believed it. But I also had to remind myself that, by his own admission, he was new to this. I think, more than anything, he had _wanted_ to believe his life wouldn’t significantly change one way or the other. Today—and last night—seemed to suggest that that simply wasn’t true. I had no desire to contemplate the identities of those who had tried to murder my lover, my friends, and a palace full of people, nor did I wish to know their motives. But I couldn’t be blind to the danger they and others like them posed. And I felt certain, deep in my heart, that there _were_ others like them.

However, tomorrow might bring more uncertainty, more questions about the future, for myself and my relationship. But at least for the rest of the evening, I pushed all of that aside and focused instead on the one in whose arms I now lay.

For now, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good (Bad?) News! I see at most 5 (probably fewer) chapters left, so that means we're nearing the end! We may return to Casien's POV after this book, though Laurie would feature heavily in the story. Something easy, no grand adventures. A bit of jarl-ing in ye olde Windham. But with a side of murder to spice things up, perhaps? ;)


	30. Chapter 30

The remainder of that first day was a chaotic one. Soren was a regular visitor and began to make hourly reports until day’s end. Errin insisted that Falk remain confined to his bed for now, and the same order was issued to all her patients. Once I had eaten, I was allowed to wander, but I chose to remain beside my lover. I think he was weaker than he was willing to admit, and I was happy to be his nurse, to fetch him what he needed when he needed it. I even pulled a chair and a little side table into the bedroom so that Soren or anyone else could have a proper place to sit down and work while consulting with their jarl. And I made sure to procure fresh tea or coffee or water and little things to nibble on whilst doing so.

“You take to this role very well,” remarked my lover as I was busy pulling all the heavy curtains shut so the warmth in the room wouldn’t escape into the chilly, night air.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, trying to hide my smile.

“Only that I might consider hiring you as my personal assistant. It would free up a great deal of Soren’s time at least.”

I laughed and tossed a pillow at his grinning, handsome face before going to light a few more of the lamps and candles about the room. A knock at the outer door told me dinner had arrived, so I left to fetch it. We dined together in bed, the dinner tray between us, taking turns feeding one another with our forks like silly children. Afterward, I put everything away and asked him if he should like me to play or read for him. He chose music, so I obliged him.

When I noticed his eyes had actually fallen shut at the end of the third song, I quietly packed the lute away again.

I took a long bath, feeling both nervous and excited to be doing so in such a fine wash room. There wasn’t much in the way of fine-smelling soaps and oils, but I did fill the water all the way up so that when I leaned back completely it came up to my chin. I closed my eyes and let the hot water chase away the remainder of my fears.

There were still many hours left before my usual bedtime, so I decided to put them to good use. I was glad I’d brought my work with me, but I ended up cleaning up the scene I had written here last night, the one between Francis and his guard captain. The melancholy that had settled over the end of that particular scene felt somehow discordant with the overall tone of Francis’s story, and I thought it worked much better if Captain Hendriks did in the end commit himself to their relationship. I could always add something later to spice up a bit of drama between them—perhaps the wife would reveal that she had become pregnant, only for it to turn out that some other man besides the good captain had fathered her child.

Once I finally began to feel sleepy, I put all of my work away and began to make my usual nighttime cup of tea—Errin had been kind enough to bring me several additional sachets since she’d already distributed my entire supply to the palace guests. Once it was ready, I settled down to drink it in bed, carefully easing myself under the sheets so that I wouldn’t disturb my lover. Just like last night, he didn’t so much as stir—which naturally caused my heart to flip-flop painfully in my chest. (The tea, I suppose, helped prevent a full on panic attack.) But when I reached out to tentatively trace my fingers over his chest, he actually breathed in heavily, the fingers of his own hand twitching. I smiled, relieved, and quickly finished my tea before settling down fully beside him.

I wasn’t an early riser, despite having grown up on a farm. Yet it seemed _someone_ was. For the sun was just beginning to filter through the windows from behind the curtains when I felt a pair of lips kissing my shoulder and fingers tickling over my stomach.

It was the morning after I had dreamed of. I think he knew this, too, for he was gentle and quiet, and we did nothing we hadn’t already done together. Afterward, we held one another for a few minutes, and he told me again and again how beautiful I was, and how much he loved me. I wanted to beg him to stop, but all I could do was smile and hide my warm face against his chest.

He felt strong enough, he claimed, to try and bathe, and so I poured the bathwater for him first before helping him make his way there. I think we were both surprised how weak he was. He was dizzy, too, and humbly suggested that I not leave the wash room while he bathed, lest he temporarily lose his senses and accidentally bash his head against the side of the tub. He leaned heavily against me on the way back to his bed, and ended up falling back asleep for a few more hours. I had to politely chase away Soren and a few others who understandably needed to have a word with him. _Give him the morning_ , I suggested. Soren, for his part, only smiled, pressed his lips together, and looked like he wanted to say something in return, but only nodded.

Errin came by to check on him sometime after breakfast. He was still asleep, but she pronounced him in excellent health, all things considered.

“I can sit with him until he wakes,” she said, smiling at me, “if you’d like to take the chance to visit some of your friends. Lord Jon in particular is, I believe, in danger of doing himself harm out of sheer boredom.”

I laughed at this, and though I was reluctant to leave my lover, I was also eager to see my friends after yesterday. It was pleasant to be able to walk the halls again, too, without the hulking presence of Aldrik looming behind me. The servants, guards, and healers I passed in the hallways looked more relaxed today; they smiled at me, and I smiled back. The servants had always been very courteous to me ever since I had come to live in the palace, and it had always made me feel somewhat awkward, as if I didn’t belong here, for I was neither of their class nor of the upper class. But at least they had always been kind towards me.

I knocked on Jon’s door, happiness rushing through me when I heard his voice call out from within, bidding me to enter.

“Laurie!” he cried, as soon as I entered the bedroom, “Never thought I’d be this happy to see your smiling face.”

“How are you?” I asked, removing my boots first before coming to sit on the side of the bed.

“Not bad, all things considered. Been to the toilet three times this morning, so, you know, that’s been great. How’s Falk?”

“He’s fine,” I said. “A little weak, but otherwise fine. He’s resting right now.”

“So Soren gets to play jarl for a little while longer, I guess.

I laughed.

“That’s unkind, but yes.”

“Hm. Well, anyway. On to the important stuff. Come on— you know what I’m going to ask.”

“…I have no idea what you’re referring to,” I said, smiling and averting my eyes towards a loose piece of thread on his bedspread that I was now studiously picking at.

“Mhm. Look, you don’t have to go into detail, although I’m not against it. But tell me you got to touch his penis before he conked out like the rest of us.”

“…Oh my gods!” I said, laughing and now burying my face in my hands.

“Right. Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ or did he maybe touch yours…?”

I naturally had to beat him relentlessly in the face with his own pillow. Once he stopped laughing, he asked me sincerely (or as sincerely as he was capable of asking) how things had gone between us. _Without_ going into detail, I explained how it had been… frankly, the best night of my life. It was only a shame that it had been spoiled by what had happened immediately afterward.

“Aw, don’t think of it like that. Bad stuff’s always going to happen, whether you’re ready for it or not. Just try and focus on the good stuff while you can.”

“Jon Battle-Born, philosopher,” I teased.

“Works for me. Hey, grab my lute, will you? I’ll play and you sing.”

We did so together for a good half hour, by which time my voice was beginning to break for I wasn’t used to singing for so long. He wanted me to stay longer, but I said I wanted to visit Casien before returning to Falk. I think he understood. He asked me to bring him any number of books and notebooks, and sheets of parchment and a pen, so I did. He would write to his ‘Fina, he explained, before word of what had happened reached Whiterun, and she began to fear unnecessarily for his life.

“There’s another room you might stop by,” he said, just as I was leaving. “I hear King Alain has finally awakened. Just saying.” He arched a brow. “Might be interesting to see if he or Rin has anything to say about all this.”

I bit my bottom lip but nodded and turned to go. That was most certainly getting into circumstances and situations I had no wish to be a part of. But I supposed, in the end, Rin had become something of a friend. Perhaps he would at least appreciate having someone to talk to, assuming he and his husband were still at odds with one another.

I had to ask for directions to their rooms and was surprised as usual when they were provided to me with no questions asked. But it seemed I was known to all the staff at this point, and I must have been deemed harmless, or at least a close enough associate of the jarl that I could be trusted.

I came to the end of a long hallway on the second floor and paused at the indicated door to knock.

There was a pause, then:

“Come in.”

That was Rin’s voice. I opened the door, tentatively, before stepping fully inside. The sitting room was a mirror of Casien’s, though the far windows looked out onto the western mountains instead of the city below. The room was empty, not surprisingly, so I made my hesitant way towards the bedroom.

“Laurie!” said Rin, blinking at me as I entered.

He sounded surprised—and I immediately felt guilty, for I realized in that moment he hadn’t expected to receive any visitors whatsoever.

“Hello,” I said, smiling. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by.”

“Of course not!”

He was sitting upright in bed and looked surprisingly healthy, save for the fact that he was in his sleep clothes and his hair was a bit mussed. He had evidently been playing some sort of card game, though he quickly scooped all the cards up and set them aside, indicating that I should sit opposite him on the bed. His husband lay on the other side of the bed, seemingly asleep.

I glanced at Alain as I once again removed my boots before sitting down on the bed and folding my legs under me.

“Is he…?”

“He’s fine,” said Rin, a little smile tugging at his lips. “He woke up late last night. Evidently, he had rather a lot to drink the night before.” He glanced at me. “Though I doubt that comes as much of a surprise to you.”

I smiled and looked down, for I wasn’t really sure what to say to that. Yes, Alain had acted very inappropriately the night of the ball, but… clearly, the poisoned mead had affected him and many other guests, getting them drunker than they had ever meant to be. Still, in the end, I supposed that shouldn’t really excuse his behavior towards me.

“I laid into him that night,” Rin continued, reaching for the cards again and shuffling them together. “He gave back as good as he got, which is unusual for him.”

“…You’re awfully hard on him,” I said, though I wasn’t sure it was right for me to criticize how he spoke about his husband.

But Rin only shrugged.

“He is who he is, and I am who _I_ am. He wanted me to be jealous. But I think he really thought it was over between us. I thought it might be, too. And besides.” He sighed and lay the cards aside again. “It was my fault anyway, the way he acted towards you.”

I had never fully understood the break that appeared to have occurred between them. Yes, Rin had obviously been unhappy about his husband’s plans to fake the kidnapping of his friend. But the plans had been foiled, and I had little doubt that Alain was very sorry for what he had nearly done—or, at the very least, sorry for what it seemed to have done to their relationship.

“…How do you mean?” I finally asked.

“I suppose… maybe I didn’t really tell you the whole story.” He paused, shifting to draw his knees up and wrap his arms loosely around them. “You and Casien.”

He was quiet for a moment, his fingers playing absently with the material of his sleep pants. Then, finally, he sighed—heavily.

“It wasn’t just Casien that was to be kidnapped. After all, the whole point was to show that there would be repercussions on both sides, should both Farrun and Skyrim agree to become allies. Allie wanted to scare Ulfric and the others, yes, but what was done to them had to be done to himself, too. Farrun must also be seen to suffer from the enemy’s attempts at intimidation.”

I frowned and shook my head.

“But… how…?”

“Me,” came the quiet reply. “Both Casien and myself. Kidnapped and ransomed as—well, the plans weren’t quite finished when I came upon them. But Allie confessed to me that both he and Ulfric would be told to end negotiations or their spouses would be killed. Return home, and we would be returned to them. His hope was that Ulfric wouldn’t cave in to these demands, and together they would ‘find’ us. And Ulfric would truly see just how much the enemy didn’t want this alliance—and how much Farrun would absolutely depend upon the promise of aid and support from Skyrim, should the alliance go through.”

I was speechless. It wasn’t simple disagreement—the misuse of a friend that Rin had clearly come to care about (though I don’t think he was the type to admit when he truly cared for someone). No, it was absolute, unequivocal betrayal. How anyone, let alone a couple, could overcome such a heinous breach of trust was utterly beyond me. I could only look from Rin’s pensive face to Alain’s sleeping one with horror.

“He claimed that he planned on telling me at some point. Nothing was to ever had happened without the whole thing having my blessing. But honestly… I don’t think I believed him. I still don’t.” He paused. “It’s all right, Laurie. I know it’s hard to understand, but Allie and I… we’re going to be fine.”

That’s when I realized my eyes had rather suddenly filled with tears. I felt myself blush, for it was quite silly—even _strange_ to have such an emotional reaction to what he was sharing with me.

I shook my head again.

“But… how could you _ever_ …?”

“Because I love him,” said Rin, shrugging. “I thought about going on without him, and I couldn’t. I mean, I _could_ , but I wouldn’t like it. Allie is an idiot. He’s always _been_ an idiot. He worries too much, and it drives him to make stupid decisions.” He smiled his old, lopsided smile. “Like marry me.”

I thought of how Alain had acted the other night—not only how he had held me far too closely and described me in ways that made my ears burn with shame—but about how he couldn’t seem to stop talking about Rin, either. I think I knew even then how hurt he had been. _Rin has done with me_ , he’d said, and then he’d smiled as if such a pronouncement were no bother to him at all.

I looked at Rin now, how his smile turned a bit sheepish when our eyes met. And I thought it… not sad, but quite a small and wondrous thing that he still sat beside his husband despite everything that had happened.

“…Falk told me about relationships like ours,” I said, my heart fluttering uncomfortably in my chest. “He said that couples like you and Alain, Casien and Ulfric… you made it easier for us. It must have been hard…”

“I won’t say it wasn’t, or that it still isn’t. If he were smart, he’d have kept me as his lover and married some fine nobleman’s son. Or daughter, really. The line of succession is hereditary in most of High Rock. I rather like the way they do it here in Skyrim. Rattle your sword and shout the loudest, and they’ll make you king or queen. And then you marry whomever you like, heirs be damned.”

“But Alain married whomever _he_ liked,” I pointed out. “He married you.”

“True. Which was only the latest in a long list of stupid decisions he made and continues to make. But then I don’t think he’d have managed to win his crown the Skyrim way either. Never was much of a shouter, poor Allie.”

“You must believe,” I said, with all the quiet earnestness I could muster, “That of all the decisions he has made in his life, the one he would least regret is marrying you.”

To my surprise, Rin blinked and opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to manage a reply.

“…He’s right, you know.”

We both started and looked at Alain, who was now gazing at Rin, a faint smile on his face. He hadn’t moved—I’m not sure he had the strength for it. His eyes were hooded and dark, his expression haggard. But he was alive, and I could only imagine the quiet relief Rin must have felt, lying here alone with him late last night, when he’d finally opened his eyes.

“Maybe,” said Rin, evidently recovered. “But it was still a stupid decision.”

“Well, if I recall correctly, you made it rather difficult to say no.”

Rin rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was trying not to smile, too.

“Laurie,” said Alain, turning his gaze to me now. “My actions towards you the night of the ball were… well, they were unpardonable.”

“They really were,” agreed his husband.

Alain looked pained but didn’t otherwise deny it.

“I don’t know that my apology is worth anything to you, but I offer it nonetheless. And I hope against hope that I didn’t cause you any lasting distress.”

I smiled and shook my head, for it was true. Maybe it was foolish of me to forgive so easily, but I truly felt no grudge against him. He had been a man intensely troubled, and perhaps he had said some things about me that weren’t entirely untrue. That didn’t make his actions right. But he was under an unwelcome influence, and somehow, I knew in my heart that he was not a bad man.

“You’re far too kind,” he said, and for a moment, the relieved smile on his face made him look his usual, handsome self. “I’ll say this much: Falk is a very lucky man. You truly _will_ make a fine consort.”

“ _Now_ you’re making me jealous,” said Rin, and I do believe it was for the sole benefit of giving me a chance to recover, though I didn’t think the sudden burning of my cheeks would desist anytime soon.

“Hardly,” said Alain, smiling. “Your friend is very sweet and very beautiful, my love, but he isn’t _you_. No other man ever will be.”

“I don’t know that Laurie considers himself my friend,” said Rin, who was, to my very great surprise, now also blushing. “It was never a great talent of mine, I’ll admit—making friends.”

Alain looked at me then, his blue-gray eyes warm and twinkling.

“Well, then, Laurie. I realize I haven’t any right to ask you for a favor, but it would mean a great deal to me if you would consider making Rin your friend. I have it on good authority that he could _use_ a friend.”

“…Of course,” I managed, still trying not to think about being referred to as my lover’s future consort. “But…” I gave Rin a questioning look. “Isn’t Casien your friend?”

“He certainly lit up like the sun each time one of Lord Casien’s letters arrived,” said Alain.

The look of betrayal Rin gave him was met with such warm laughter that I couldn’t help laughing a little myself.

“Well,” said Rin, frowning at me now. “I don’t know that he’ll consider me much of a friend after everything that’s happened. After all, this is technically all our fault.”

“We don’t know that for certain—

But the look Rin gave him made Alain immediately stop talking. He looked suitably chastised—but I also suspected that, on some level, he enjoyed being chastised by his husband.

“Have you seen him?” asked Rin. “Last I heard, he was still unconscious.”

I shook my head.

“Errin—the palace healer—she said it’s on account of his condition. But that he should awaken eventually.”

“Perhaps you might go and visit him now,” suggested Alain.

“He just wants to get me alone,” said Rin, winking.

“Oh, yes. I _much_ prefer to be told what a fool I am in private.”

“An idiot,” his husband corrected.

I sighed and shook my head at them both. I still hadn’t quite figured out their dynamic, but at least they appeared to have reconciled their differences. As to what Rin had said, about being responsible for everything that had happened—like most things political in nature, it was beyond my purview.

I said my good-byes and began to make me why back down the hallway and towards the high king’s apartment. The halls were even busier now, as it was nearing lunchtime, and there were quite a few hungry guests waiting in their rooms. Bed linens and washrooms needed to be cleaned, too, considering the nature of the illness that had stricken the palace. I shuddered at the unpleasant thought, and felt relieved in more ways than one that I had managed to avoid the effects of the poison.

The Stormcloak soldiers guarding the apartment recognized me again, though they were a different pair of soldiers. One of them even nodded and murmured ‘my lord’ as I approached, causing me to stop in my tracks and blink at him as if he’d just spoken in a different language.

“Told you not to shave it off, Griff,” said the other guard, chuckling. “You’re scaring all the pretty lads now.”

‘Griff,’ who was indeed clean-shaven—an unusual look for a Nord—cast his companion a look before nodding at me.

“Something wrong, my lord?”

I started then shook my head.

“No, I just… I’m not…”

“You’re Jarl Falk’s lad, right?” said the other guard. “You need a healer? They say he can’t breathe well,” he added, apparently to his companion.

“I can breathe just fine,” I snapped, and then immediately felt guilty, for they’d both straightened quickly and were now looking at me as if they expected to be reprimanded.

“…Sorry,” I added, “I just… is Lord Casien awake? I thought I might visit…”

“We don’t know if he is or isn’t,” said Griff, his friendly expression faltering a little. “The jarl—our jarl, that is—was ranting and raving at the last healer that was in here.”

“She ran out like her skirts were on fire,” said the other. “Poor woman.”

This was both sad and alarming news. I trusted Errin and believed her when she said that Casien’s chances of recovery were good. But Casien himself said that his husband would not be able to handle it should something happen to him. And it sounded as if the high king were nearing his breaking point already.

I took a quick, deep breath and reached up to knock—and was almost immediately bidden to enter.

The low, commanding voice was familiar to me, so I was little surprised to see Ulfric Stormcloak himself standing in the sitting room and staring back at me as I entered. I _was_ surprised to see him standing at all, for surely he, too, had been ill. Not only that, but he was fully dressed—and armed, his habitual longsword hanging from his belt.

“You are here to see Casien,” he said after a moment.

“Yes,” I said, shutting the door quietly behind me.

“He is not…”

But he turned away from me before he could finish the thought. Instead, he dropped his face into his hand before running his fingers through his hair. His other hand came to grip the side of a chair, the knuckles going white. After a moment, I came forward, closing the distance between us until I stood tentatively beside him.

“…Errin… Falk’s healer… she believes he’ll recover,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice gentle.

“Do not speak to me of healers,” he replied, his low voice a growl. “They offer nothing but platitudes.”

I smiled a little, thinking of my own condition, and how people were always sure to treat me differently once they learned of it.

“…I can relate,” I said softly.

He looked at me, his clear, blue eyes seeming to study me for a moment.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I would imagine so.”

He looked as though he might say something more, but then his face seemed to go pale, and he blinked—and his grip on the back of the chair grew tight again.

“You’re unwell!” I said, realizing.

“I…” He paused, closing his eyes momentarily to breathe in. “No, I…”

He was already starting to sway before I quickly hurried to his side, looping his arm around my shoulders. I felt his fingers grip my shoulder briefly, but he seemed to refuse to lean against me.

“I need only sit…” he began, but once again had to pause, his jaw clenching visibly beneath his beard.

“Please,” I urged, “Casien will feel better if you’re beside him. He needs you, I’m sure of it.”

Finally, he nodded, and allowed me to lead him back towards the bedroom. I helped ease him down on his side of the bed before politely stepping back. He removed his sword belt with some effort before finally lying back with a sigh, his eyes sliding closed.

After a moment, I moved towards the other side of the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and taking Casien’s limp hand in my own.

“He would not be pleased with me for lying in bed with these boots,” rumbled his exhausted husband.

I smiled, unable to tear my eyes away from my friend’s sweet face.

“He mentioned that,” I murmured. “Said you were always tracking in mud after a snowy or rainy day.”

“He is very particular about such things.”

“…He was a servant, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” came the soft reply.

It was hard to imagine the pretty creature lying before me on his knees, scrubbing at a kitchen floor, or running to and fro with a stack of linens in his hands. To me he would always be a prince, so vibrant and full of life, but the picture of happiness and ease, too—the recipient of a rich, luxurious life.

“He talks about you a great deal,” I said, for it was true.

Ulfric did not reply and his eyes remained closed, though the smallest of smiles seemed to appear fleetingly on his tired face.

“He says you are a great leader to your people,” I went on, stroking the small hand in mine. “But that you work too late each night, and that he sometimes falls asleep waiting for you. He says you enjoy poetry, and that you like it when he reads to you, but that sometimes you read to him, too, mostly when he’s ill. He says… you are fond of spiced apple mead, and the color blue, and of music, but especially when he sings to you…”

I’m not sure what I was trying to do or say. Ulfric had opened his eyes again and was regarding me with quiet thoughtfulness—I couldn’t help but flush under such steady scrutiny.

“You are a romantic,” he finally said.

The statement so surprised me I found myself too flustered to respond.

He sighed, turning his gaze to his husband again. A quiet fell between us, and, after a moment, he reached out, brushing the back of his hand against Casien’s before threading their fingers together.

“Talk to him,” I said, suddenly desperate. “I know it can help. Errin says that it can, and I did so for Falk, and—

“I am glad Falk survives. But Casien…”

“…I know about his illness. His condition.” I shifted a little, absently pulling Casien’s hand into my lap with both hands now as I gazed at his husband. “What do you do when he’s ill? Don’t you talk to him? Don’t you hold him, sing to him, kiss him?

Silence between us again, then, quietly: “I do.”

Whether he shared my resolve or simply didn’t wish to be badgered by me any longer, he eventually sat up with some effort—I could see the strain of it in his hard expression, and it made me feel guilty—before shifting closer towards his husband. He kissed the hand in his, then reached down to stroke his beloved’s cheek.

“Casien,” he said, the name somehow become a tender endearment on his lips. “You must wake up. You _must_.”

Casien lay as still as ever. Yet at least his chest continued to rise and fall, gently and evenly, as if he were simply asleep. I shifted the thumb of one hand, laying it over his wrist, and felt his heart beating, steady and strong.

“He does not have a fever, at least,” said Ulfric, for he had moved his hand to rest over his husband’s forehead now.

He sighed, his fingers now stroking gently through Casien’s hair.

“Keep talking to him,” I urged. “He can hear you; I know he can.”

Ulfric looked at me, his expression belying his lack of faith. But he nodded.

 _Dear heart_ , he called him, the two words sounding very small as he spoke them, as if they were not for anyone else to hear. _I need you_. _You must wake up_. He spoke of their family back home, of a man named Galmar whom I knew Casien thought of as a substitute father, and his wife, Lia. He spoke of Galmar’s daughters, and their children, and how he knew how much Casien must miss them. _You must give Emrik and Ava the gifts you bought for them here in Solitude_ , he said, _and rescue our poor daughter from Nella’s tender care._ He said that he could not wait to be home, so they could sit before the fire and read together again. He spoke of a poet he had yet to introduce him to, one he had been inordinately fond of whilst he was with the Greybeards. He spoke of resuming their work together on translating ancient Dwemer and Ayleid texts, of a girl named Eleanor who would be very displeased if Casien did not return home soon so that they could compare notes.

I began to keenly feel my intrusion on so intimate a moment between them—though Ulfric never indicated that I should leave, or even showed that my presence was unwelcome. I bit my lip and squeezed the hand in mine, my thumbs rubbing over the top of his hand, when—

“…Ulfric!” I said, the name very nearly getting caught in the back of my throat.

He looked up at me.

“He… squeezed my hand…”

Ulfric’s eyes widened. He sat up, his dizziness and his weariness evidently forgotten, and shifted to pull his husband’s head into his lap.

“Casien,” he said, his low voice desperate. “Please, open your eyes. Please …”

I felt the hand in both of mine twitch again; I looked down at it—the fingers were now lightly curled around my own. But when I looked up again to tell Ulfric he surprised me: he was actually smiling, the love and relief in his eyes as clear as the sun in the sky, for Casien now gazed back up at him, his eyes slowly blinking.

“Can you understand me?” asked Ulfric, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“…Yes,” said Casien, though his voice was very soft, and he sounded inordinately tired.

“I’ll go and find a healer,” I said, swinging my legs back over the bed and hastily reaching for my boots.

“…Laurie?” said Casien, his brow furrowing in understandable confusion. But I just smiled and hurried over to press a kiss against his forehead before making my way out of the room.

“He’s awake!” I said to the two guards outside, and the instant joy on their faces was enough to make me laugh. I begged the first servant I encountered to help me find a healer, and in due time, one was found. It was the older man who had first come to my aid on the stairs yesterday, and he cheerfully commended me for braving the high king’s temper before reminding me to not go barreling up staircases again any time soon.

I rolled my eyes and smiled to myself as I finally began to make my way back to the jarl’s apartment. My stomach began to growl, and I realized I must have missed lunch. I wondered if my lover were awake, and if he had eaten—he’d found his breakfast unappetizing, though Errin had assured me that that was a normal reaction to what his body had been through.

My worry for him made me think of the other couples I had spent my morning visiting with—Rin staying faithfully beside Alain despite everything that had happened between them; High King Ulfric worrying himself sick over his own husband; Jon asking for parchment and pen to write a letter to his wife, so as to prevent _her_ worrying over _him_ —it was overwhelming, in a sense, though not necessarily in a bad way. But I could almost too easily imagine myself falling into such a role: the role of the doting lover—the doting spouse.

I bit my lip and told myself I was being as ridiculous as ever, for I was nobody’s husband yet, and there truly was no indication that I would ever become one, at least not anytime soon. I had gone over this many times before, both with my friends and with myself. It was still too early to contemplate such things. After all this, he was alive, and we were together. That was all that truly mattered.

Truthfully, it was probably just easier to compartmentalize my feelings in such a way that I no longer had to consider them at all. To believe that the future was impossible to discern and therefore not worthy of time spent worrying over it was… well, it was one way to not agonize over something I genuinely had no control over. But fussing over my beloved, fretting over whether or not he’d had enough for breakfast or lunch? That was something I could do, and do willingly, without caring or worrying about who he was— _what_ he was—and what that might mean for our relationship.

Or at least that’s what I told myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost feels like an interlude within the interlude... 🤔
> 
> Heads up! We're nearly done with the series. I've only one more chapter to write (unless things spiral out of control, which....) Which means three more chapters for you guys after this one!
> 
> Oh, by the way, just to be clear: the "daughter" Ulfric mentioned is really just Casien's cat 😂 I just realized how unclear that might be to anyone who hasn't read the one-shots.


	31. Chapter 31

I kept the old healer’s cheerful warning in mind as I climbed the stairs to the third floor, even though I felt perfectly fine. But I took my time anyway, letting my palm slide over the bannister, pausing at the top to make sure I’d caught my breath. The palace was rather short on available healers at present, so the last thing I needed to do was make more work for any of them.

As I approached the jarl’s chambers—which I now realized with some chagrin were actually very near the entrance to the rooftop garden—I began to see chairs now lining the hallway leading up to the apartment doors. Those closest to the entrance were actually occupied. They all looked like rather important people, many of them carrying stacks of paper and speaking softly to one another. They each paused to look at me as I passed, and I tried very hard not to show that I minded.

The main doors were open, and when I entered the sitting room it was to see Soren sitting on one of the couches, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, a folding table set in front of him.

“Yes, can I…?” He looked up, blinking when he saw it was me. “Oh, Laurie. You bring back good news, I hope?”

His smile lessened some of the nervousness which had begun to creep through me, for it was evident that my lover was officially back at work, albeit operating out of his own apartment. I couldn’t help worrying that this might be too soon, considering his health—but nor could I help wondering if my presence here wouldn’t now become something of a nuisance to him.

“…Yes,” I said, doing my best to smile in return, but then when I thought of my friends, it wasn’t so difficult. “Jon is well, and so are Alain and Rin. And Casien has finally woken up.”

“Goodness, that’s beyond good news. That’s excellent news. And you’re feeling all right, I hope?”

I smiled and nodded, then glanced towards the bedroom.

“…Is he busy?” I asked, forcing myself not to chew on the inside of my cheek.

“He’s with Harbormaster Dan-Rei at present, but they should be nearly done.” He paused, a warm, knowing smile coming to his face. “Go on, Laurie. He’ll be happy to see you.”

I nodded again and began to make my way towards the bedroom. I paused at the open doorway, thinking to knock—but was strangely arrested by the site of my lover sitting up in bed. He was dressed, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up to his elbows, but he kept the blanket draped over his lap, and he was leaning back against several pillows. An Argonian sat opposite him at the little desk I had created yesterday, and together they were bent over what looked like a map—probably the harbor, considering the Argonian’s title and position.

Before I could regain my senses and politely announce my presence, however—

“Laurie!” said Falk, looking up, his tired face now blossoming with pleasure. “You’re back!”

“…Yes,” I said, unable to keep the smile from coming to my own face, and when he happily held his hand out to me, I came forward, taking it and sitting down beside him on the bed.

“What a long day it has been without you!” he said, beaming and kissing the hand in his. “Mr. Dan-Rei,” he added, turning to the harbormaster, “we may finish up tomorrow, I think? Though I see no reason for the crown not to sign the contract.”

“Very good, my lord,” said the harbormaster, refolding the map and stuffing it into a folder full of other pieces of parchment. He bowed then and flicked a look towards me that I think might have been a smile, but it can unfortunately be rather difficult to tell sometimes with Argonians.

“Tell me of your morning,” said my lover, tugging me closer towards him, until I was very nearly in his lap. “Whom did you visit? Are they well? Have you had lunch?”

“…No,” I said, laughing, for I wasn’t quite sure which question to answer first, so I naturally went with the easiest.

“Neither have I, though it was brought for me some time ago. Will you eat it with me?”

“Of course,” I said, smiling, for I found myself suddenly in quiet awe over how beautiful he was, despite the weariness tugging at his handsome features.

“Now what’s this?” he asked, teasing. “Do you stare at me because I have some bit of breakfast still stuck upon my cheek? Some hair out of place? Some crusty bit of morning clinging to my eyes or nose?”

“No,” I said again, once again failing to swallow my laughter.

“Well,” he said, a now familiar husk to his voice, “Then I am at a loss.”

His eyes darkened, and he now had both hands around my waist. I closed the distance between us, tilting my head slightly, and kissed him, my hands cradling his face, fingers mussing up his hair. I curled my legs up and settled more comfortably into his lap, and he slid his hand lazily up and down my thigh as we kissed.

“…You don’t have another meeting?” I eventually asked, once the kiss had ended.

“Many,” he murmured, closing his eyes and nuzzling his nose against my cheek, “Endless meetings…” He sighed and sat back, his eyes meeting my own again. “But Soren will give us some time. Come.” He gave my thigh a playful pat now. “Eat lunch with me.”

And so we ate lunch, together and in bed, just as we had before. I knew it was only on account of his recovery, but there was something so warm and intimate about doing that with him. He had been served a proper lunch, too, and was off soup and gruel, but as his appetite was still somewhat lagging, he was only too happy to part with some of it (and I think he enjoyed sharing his food with me, if I’m perfectly honest).

“There’s something I ought to tell you,” he said, after we’d mostly finished and now sat back against the pillows and headboard together.

“…Oh?”

I was leaning against him a little, resting my head against his shoulder, and he had an arm around me, his fingers gently stroking through my hair.

“Yes. Captain Reyna came to speak with me.” I stiffened, and I think he noticed, because he added: “She has resigned her position.”

I sat up, blinking.

He smiled at me, and took my hands in his.

“Before you say anything—know that she came to me of her own accord, and that I demanded nothing from her. And know that this isn’t, in any way, shape, or form, your fault.”

I shook my head, disbelieving.

“But…”

“No, Laurie,” he said gently, squeezing my hands. “It isn’t. I promise.”

He gazed at me, seemingly waiting for me to accept what he was saying. And as I couldn’t be contrary when he was looking at me with such anxious warmth, I could only sigh and finally nod.

He smiled again.

“Good. Now come and lay your head upon my shoulder once more; it will make me feel easier about all of this.”

I rolled my eyes but consented to resuming my comfortable position, albeit with a small smile on my face.

He made a show of sighing with contentment, and I laughed.

“Perfect. Now, Reyna spoke to me of what happened—what was done to you. She did not defend her actions; she is not the type of woman to do so. She did not apologize, either, nor did I expect for her to do so.”

He paused, then sighed again, his chest rising and falling heavily beneath me.

“The truth of it is—she has surmised that you are someone who is very dear to me—someone who is important to me, and that it would thus be inappropriate for her to remain. Even beyond that, she knew it would be expected for her to be disciplined or relieved on account of what has happened here under her watch.”

“What has happened…” I repeated, not entirely sure what he was referring to.

“The assassination attempt. Unfortunately, that is what we must call it, though it has been blessedly thwarted—by none other than yourself, as I understand it.”

“…I really didn’t do much,” I said, feeling myself flush.

“Errin begs to differ, and as she is my healer-in-residence, I must defer to her expertise on the matter. As for Reyna—I was luckily able to convince her to accept a new position, as guard captain of Dragon Bridge, for she would beg an early retirement from me instead, and I knew this was not how she wished to end her service to the hold.”

It still all seemed so terribly sad and wrong. But I was so ignorant of such things, and so anxious about my own apparent position in the palace, that I couldn’t really think what to say. I didn’t wish for Reyna, who was clearly an accomplished veteran, to have to give up her own position, one which I didn’t doubt had been well-earned. But nor did I wish to ever have to encounter her again—not when the mere mention of her name made my heart beat painfully against my ribcage before dropping down somewhere into the vicinity of my stomach.

“…Am I so important,” I wondered sadly, “that people must… give up their entire livelihoods to accommodate my presence?”

“I would not phrase it thusly. But are you important? Yes, very. I would tell you just how important you are, but I think it’s the type of thing I should like to practice before saying, lest I come off looking more a fool than usual.”

“You aren’t a fool,” I said, scoffing, and when I lifted my head to look at him, I was surprised to see him blushing.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and smiling. “Had you not told me you loved me yesterday I would have sussed it out by now. For how else could you be so ready and willing to ignore the vastness of my inadequacies?”

I rolled my eyes and gave him a gentle smack on the chest, and naturally his response was to laugh and pull me close again. Had he not had a line of people outside his apartment waiting to speak with him, I have little doubt we would have sunk further down into the pillows as we kissed, and I might soon have felt the warmth of his skin against my own again. Instead, he sighed and tucked my hair behind my ear before lovingly referring to me as a ‘danger to the realm,’ for how was a man supposed to work under such conditions as this? I felt that warranted another smack, but I think he rather liked it when I ‘assaulted’ him, so I thought, for the sake of the realm, I had perhaps best not.

And so I left him to his work. I tried to do a little work of my own, but, unsurprisingly, it was even harder than usual to concentrate. Eventually, I decided to visit Jon again, and was little surprised to see Karita already there—he must have sent her a note soon after I’d left him. Of course, then Karita insisted upon hearing about the details of my first night together with Falk, and I found myself just as reluctant to share them with her as I had with Jon.

“Some things are meant to stay private,” I said, peering down at my lute as I carefully tuned it, for I’d thought to bring it with me this time.

“I never would have pegged you for selfish, Lawrence Nailo,” sighed Karita. “Think about how hard Jon and I worked to make this happen. Don’t you think we deserve a little compensation for our efforts?”

She had situated herself on the sofa opposite the bed while I sat at the foot of the bed, leaning against one of the bedposts. Jon, like most other patients, had been ordered to remain in bed for at least another day, which, consequently, was why my lover even now conducted business from his own bed.

“Don’t assume I have even the _slightest_ interest in the tawdry details of Laurie’s love life,” said Jon, loftily strumming his own lute.

I looked at him, aggrieved.

“ _You_ were the one who asked about our…!”

But I trailed off, and could feel my face rapidly heating up.

“Your what?” asked Karita, eyes lighting up with interest.

“Oh,” said Jon, seemingly remembering. “I did ask if they touched each other’s you-know-whats.”

“Since when are you too prim and proper to say the word ‘dick’? Also, did they?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”

“I’m not telling you about my boyfriend’s dick!” I finally said.

They both stopped and looked at me, blinking, for I had practically shouted the words. But I felt even less capable of handling their teasing now than I usually did, though I couldn’t exactly say why.

“That’s the first time you’ve called him your boyfriend,” said Karita, smiling and laying her hand over her heart.

“Aww,” said Jon, but he quickly held up his hands when I shot him a dirty look.

“Why,” I said, laying my lute down and glaring at them both now, “is everything about my life a joke to you two? Why can’t I just live my life in _peace_? Why must you taunt me and tease me and make me feel even more stupid and more inadequate than I already am?!”

An awkward silence greeted my unexpected little tirade. Both Jon and Karita exchanged a look before looking at me again, though neither one seemed willing to speak first.

“Lor…” Karita finally said, her expression faltering. “We’re sorry. We…”

“He nearly _died_!”

The words leapt from the back of my throat as if I’d had no control over them at all—as if all the emotions I’d been holding in for two days now had suddenly fallen loose. Now they were all tumbling out from inside me, and I couldn’t react fast enough to scoop them all back up again.

“I woke up,” I said, that horrible morning reasserting itself before me, “and he wasn’t moving. I kissed him and shook him and—I thought he was _dead_! I thought he was dead, and all you two want to talk about is the fact that he and I had sex, like it’s… like it’s some grand thing, like it’s more important than the fact that I nearly lost him…!”

Karita had come forward, hesitantly, to sit on the end of the bed. She had tears in her eyes, and I couldn’t feel overly bad or wonder if my words had genuinely hurt her that much, because I had tears in my own eyes. Only they were now slipping down over my cheeks, too, and making my nose run, and so I just choked on a sob and lowered my face into both my hands.

I felt her arms come around me, holding me. She was my friend—I was upset with her and Jon both, but she was my friend, and I let her hold me as I wept. I had a lot on my mind, a lot of dark thoughts hanging over me like heavy rain clouds, and not all of them about that awful morning, either. And yet I didn’t wish to confide in either her or Jon. I didn’t feel as if either of them could understand. How could they, when I didn’t fully understand myself?

“…I should go,” I said, once I’d gotten a hold of myself enough to sniff and wipe my face with my sleeves and begin packing my lute away.

“Don’t go,” said Jon. “Laurie, honestly, I’m so sorry for teasing you. There’s no excuse.”

“Stay with us,” said Karita, smiling and taking my hand.

But I shook my head, unable to meet her eyes, and gently pulled my hand away from hers. Without another word then I got to my feet, slipped my lute over my shoulder, and made my way back out of the room.

I didn’t know where to go, so I just went back to my room—my neat little room, my gift to me from my lover, and one I’d been so hesitant to accept. I closed the door behind me and set the lute down. I hadn’t been back here since yesterday afternoon, when I’d come to pack a few of my things and first realized the medicinal qualities of the tea I drank each night might suddenly hold significance for more than just myself.

The fireplace was cold. I bent to relight it, then decided to put the kettle over the fire. I was fond of all manner of tea, really, and liked to drink it with lunch and dinner. But even in the between hours, I liked a floral herbal tea, or even a spicy black tea, if I could find some at the market. There were certainly more places to shop here in Solitude than there ever had been back home, where I had to rely on whatever the traders thought to bring in from the capital.

I sipped my tea once it was ready, then afterward decided to remove my boots and lie down for a bit, for I felt a bit sleepy. But I lay there for a long time, hugging my stuffed bear to my chest and listening to the sound of the birds outside my window (and the servants passing by in the hallway), unable to fall asleep. I knew I should probably work on my writing, but my heart just wasn’t in it at present. I could return to my lover, but he was busy—and he’d been joking about my being a ‘danger to the realm,’ but it was true, in a small sense. I really would just be in the way.

In all honesty, I probably should have had some of my usual tea, for whatever it was that was eating away at my heart was what was keeping me from falling asleep, too. I didn’t usually have trouble taking naps in the middle of the day. Eventually, I made myself get up again. Surprisingly, I still didn’t feel remorse over what I had said to Karita and Jon, even though I hoped that they in turn wouldn’t think badly of me for it. But I needed to talk to someone. In the past, of course, I would have gone to my mothers, but… they obviously weren’t here.

There _was_ one person, however, who knew, of a sort, exactly what it was I was going through. In fact, he’d even told me himself that he felt we had a great deal in common—it was why he had chosen to befriend me. Of course, I didn’t know if he was still awake, or even well enough to have visitors, but I supposed it couldn’t hurt to try.

For the second time that day, I made my way towards the high king’s apartment. The guards once again nodded at me but didn’t otherwise speak. I lifted a hand and knocked on the heavy, wooden door.

There was no immediate response. I supposed both occupants could be sleeping, or… well, Casien was surely still too weak to engage in any sort of conjugal activities with his husband. I knocked one more time and waited for a few seconds before a heavy sigh escaped me. So much for my decision to…

I started, already half-turned away, for the door had opened, albeit just a little. It was the high king himself who gazed out at me. He looked tired, and perhaps a little annoyed—the expression unnerved me, though it really shouldn’t have—but when he saw it was me, he seemed to relax.

He said nothing, only looked at me for a moment more before stepping back and opening the door more fully so that I could enter.

“Casien is asleep,” he said, after closing the door behind us. “If it is he you have come to see, I confess I prefer we not wake him.”

I nodded, even as my heart sank in my chest, but I could hardly disagree with him. It seemed a minor miracle that my friend had awakened at all, even despite Errin’s assurances that he would.

“Come,” said Ulfric, surprising me.

He placed a hand lightly on my shoulder, further startling me, and gently urged me to follow him. So I did. We made our way to the far side of the sitting room; he gestured for me to sit in one of the nearby chairs while he himself went to push the curtains aside. Faded sunlight spilled into the room, for the sky was still heavily overcast.

“Another dreary day,” he said before seating himself heavily in the chair across from me.

I thought perhaps he ought not be out of bed, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell him otherwise. He took a great, deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment. Unlike this morning, he was only partially dressed in loose trousers and a slightly wrinkled undertunic—I suspect he’d been sleeping in them. He was also barefoot and unarmed.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to gaze at me, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Something is bothering you,” he said.

I didn’t ask him how he knew, even as his pronouncement seemed to briefly knock the breath out of me, like a ship who’d suddenly lost all its sails. I blinked and looked down for a moment before biting my lip and nodding.

“You wished to discuss it with Casien,” he continued.

“…It was foolish,” I said, feeling my cheeks flare with heat. “Selfish…”

“It is foolish to discuss your problems with a friend?”

He leaned forward to reach for a poker so he could stoke the fireplace. It was already comfortably warm, but I had noticed how often Casien wore cloaks, even when it was somewhat warm outside, and I recalled his husband fretting over how cold the palace hallways were. I wondered if he knew how charming and doting a picture he painted of himself—how very clear it was that Ulfric Stormcloak loved Casien Yedlin so very, very much.

“No…” I finally allowed. “I suppose not.”

He laid the poker aside and sat back, his gaze falling on me again. It was strange—a few months ago, I probably would not have called him handsome. But I had grown so used to the large features and bearded faces of Nord men that I could certainly do so now. And I saw what Casien saw in him, too: not simple, rugged beauty, but a deep and constant thoughtfulness—in some ways, even kindness.

He arched one blond eyebrow.

“You make a study of me.”

“…Sorry,” I said, smiling and averting my eyes.

“Mm. I am, perhaps, not so terrifying now as I once was to you.”

I wanted to tell him that I had never found him ‘terrifying,’ but I supposed that would be untrue. He was still very large, even for a Nord, and he carried with him a presence that went beyond even the physical. And, well, he was a great warrior of rather infamous repute.

“Perhaps,” I agreed, pressing my lips together to try and hide my growing smile.

He was silent for a time, then:

“May I offer a suggestion?” When I nodded, he continued. “Whatever this is, that which you intended to share with Casien—I am not my husband. Indeed, in many ways we are very different. Yet very alike in others, else I do not think we would have done so well together as we have.”

“…You want me to talk to you,” I said slowly. “Since I can’t talk to Casien.”

“It is merely a suggestion.”

It was a fair one—and an incredibly kind one. Yet we were not friends, though not because he was unkind or I didn’t care for him. He was Ulfric Stormcloak, High King of Skyrim. And what interest or care could such a man have for the silly, painful obsessions of a heart like mine?

I met his eyes, then looked away again—and took a deep breath, my teeth clamping down on my lower lip.

“The thing is,” I began. “I don’t really _know_ what the problem is.”

When I glanced back up at him, he only sat there, waiting for me to continue.

I closed my eyes and took another deep breath.

“…The person I love… is a great man. Only I wish he weren’t. I wish he were a farmer, or a blacksmith. I wish I didn’t have to worry about assassinations or kidnappings or…” I paused, reopening my eyes. “I don’t want to ever go through this again. Ever. And yet…”

“You love him,” he finished. It almost made me smile, for Casien also was very good at finishing my thoughts when I couldn’t quite do so myself.

I nodded.

“…I always wanted to be in love. I dreamed about it. I imagined what it would feel like, what it—But now that I am, I—I don’t really know what to do about it.”

“Must something be done about it?”

I shook my head.

“…I don’t know. I…”

I felt tears briefly sting the corners of my eyes and quickly blinked them away. But I could still feel my heart racing in my chest, so fast and so frantic it was making me dizzy. I knew better than to ignore it, so I took a moment to close my eyes again and breathe. I could hear the fire crackling nearby, and the sound of a strong gust of wind pushing up against the windows.

“Everyone thinks he’s going to ask me to marry him,” I said.

I opened my eyes again. It sounded as if someone else had spoken. My voice was dull—frightened, I think. Yet how incredibly silly to be afraid of marrying the person you loved.

“A reasonable assumption,” said the high king.

When I looked at him, startled—he didn’t smile, though he was regarding me thoughtfully, his fingers stroking absently through his short beard.

“…Why?” I asked. “Why does everyone seem to think so except _me_?”

“I fear only you can answer the last. But as to everyone else—we observe two people who suit one another very well.” He shrugged. “That is usually enough.”

_But he didn’t marry Bryling_ , I wanted to say. He didn’t marry her, and she left him. His past was filled with unanswered questions in a way mine was not. I was simple—boring, even. Unlike Francesca or her brother, I would have made a terrible main character for a story. My parents weren’t wealthy merchants or great nobles. They were farmers. And I had made nothing of my life until coming here, and even then, before meeting him, who was I, really?

“My friend did not wish for me to marry.”

Ulfric’s calm voice startled me from my thoughts. He was gazing out towards the window now, his chin resting on his fist, elbow resting on the arm of the chair.

“…Why not?” I asked.

“Casien was very young. I was not. He was poor, a servant— _my_ servant. He was an elf. A dark elf. His reasons, though unstated, were myriad.”

“But you married him anyway,” I said, frowning, for of course he had to have.

He looked at me, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“I married him anyway,” he agreed. “For I knew in my heart that all of these differences Galmar saw—I saw them, too, and certainly they made me anxious, for how could one so young and bright see fit to tie himself to a man such as myself? I who had just waged war upon my own countrymen and women.”

“…But you suited one another,” I said slowly. “And that was enough.”

“I hoped that it would be.”

And it was. Anyone who’d seen them together had to know that it was. But could it be enough for myself and Falk? We had only known one another for… how long had it really been? Two months? A little more, perhaps, but not quite three, I was certain.

“And he braves all of this… the assassination attempts, the kidnappings, the… even the not awful things. The… meetings and events and rubbing elbows with people who smile and pretend to like him…” I glanced at him. “For you?”

“Perhaps. Though I suspect it is not so simple.” His lips quirked. “I suspect he rather enjoys the meetings and events and rubbing elbows. Certainly in a way that I do not.”

Falk had said that Casien was very good at such things, so I could believe it. And I couldn’t quite imagine a man like Ulfric Stormcloak taking pleasure in deciding who should sit next to whom at dinner.

“It’s just…” I paused, struggling, as usual, to put my feelings into words. “It’s just that I don’t think I could do that. All of the things that would be required of me.”

“Then you intend to refuse him.”

The abrupt pronouncement startled me. I looked at him, blinking, my heart beating rapidly in my chest.

“No,” I said without thinking. “Of course not. I could never…”

I trailed off. I looked at him again, but he only returned my gaze, chin still resting on his fist. But then I felt myself start to blush. _How dare he?_ I thought. I looked away, biting my lip, and doing my best to stay my growing smile.

“Ulfric…?”

Casien’s soft voice startled us both. I watched as Ulfric’s features then softened and he rose slowly and carefully to his feet.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, nodding at me.

I smiled.

“Of course.”

I waited to make sure he was able to make it back to the bedroom on his own before making my own way back towards the door and letting myself out.

I felt strangely light on my feet as I began to walk back to my room. I even decided to make a sudden detour and, before I could second guess myself, began to head towards Jon’s room instead.

Karita was gone, not surprisingly, but poor Jon was still stuck in bed, this time surrounded by parchment, ink, and scrap paper.

“You’ll manage to write an epic before all of this is over,” I joked, settling down on the side of the bed.

“You laugh, but the headmaster charged me with working on the King Olaf music compilation, and I’ve only got a few weeks to do it.”

I frowned.

“I thought you were heading back home to Whiterun after the moot?”

“Headmaster decided otherwise, I guess,” he said, shrugging.

A silence fell between us. And then the funniest thing happened, though I suppose it was so novel to me because I’d never really had a friend before: we both began to apologize at once. Of course, as soon as we realized what we were doing, we both started laughing. All of the tension that had stood between us seemed to melt instantly away, and I begged him to let me go first. I told him about the fears I’d been harboring, for weeks now—how silly they made me feel, for not only did it feel outrageously presumptuous to be thinking of marriage after so short a time, but it felt ridiculous to be _afraid_ of such a thing, too. I admitted that Ulfric of all people had helped me settle those fears, and this shocked him exactly as much as I anticipated it would.

For his part, he told me he was sorry, not just for teasing me, but for his rather over-the-top interest in my relationship with Falk.

“Honestly, Laurie? Watching you two fall in love has been frankly adorable. And, you know, it keeps my mind off things.”

“And yet you’re staying longer to work on this event for the headmaster?” I asked, frowning and crossing my arms over my chest.

“I know; I’m such a yes man. ‘Fina’s going to kill me—and I deserve it.”

I laughed and told him I was pretty certain she wouldn’t and that he didn’t. But I understood the guilt he was laboring under, at least to some degree. At this point, I didn’t know when I might find the time to return home to my mothers, nor for how long I’d be able to stay. For the longer I stayed with them, the more I would miss him—and vice versa, too.

I eventually returned to the jarl’s apartment in time for dinner. I wasn’t sure when exactly I _should_ return, for I didn’t wish to upset his work schedule. And beyond that, I wasn’t entirely sure I should return at all, at least not uninvited. We were together—but we hadn’t moved in together. And the fact that we both lived in the same building only seemed to complicate matters more.

But dinner, I thought, was a reasonable compromise, and as he was still recovering, it seemed right that I should spend the night again, just in case.

He didn’t give any indication that he objected to the plan—not that I thought he would.

And then, later that night, after we’d both bathed and I’d had my tea, he asked me if I wouldn’t like to try something new together.

“Something new…?” I asked, smiling when I felt his arms wrap around me, his lips nibbling on my ear.

“Yes,” he said, moving to kiss my neck, his hands slipping under the folds of my borrowed robe. “Something new…”

In all honesty, he probably ought to have waited—not for my sake, but for his own. But I don’t think we can be blamed for our eagerness. We had so far done nothing more than touch one another, though he had also used his mouth to… well. And I was still too unsure to offer to do the same, though I did want to, eventually. But that night he made love to me for the first time. I wasn’t nervous, but even if I had been, he was so gentle and so careful, my nervousness likely wouldn’t have lasted for long. He made me feel good about the way my body reacted, too, and he was, unsurprisingly, a very supportive, very thoughtful lover.

He was exhausted afterward. I teased him, stroked his hair and bathed his face in sweet kisses, and promised him that tomorrow I would do all the work. _Hmmm_ , was his only response, his eyes still closed, cheeks rosy beneath his beard, and a slow smile spreading across his sleepy face. He was soon fast asleep, and I happily followed him not long afterward.

The next few days continued in this same fashion. In the mornings, we shared coffee or tea and breakfast together, then afterwards parted ways—he to his office, and I to either my room or one of the gardens so I could write. Generally, I would enjoy lunch by myself—gone were the days when he could spare the time to meet with me during or after lunch. He had far too much work to catch up on, understandably enough. And as he asked me every morning if I would return in the evening to enjoy dinner with him, I continued to have a reason to do so.

I visited my friends during this time, too, as often as I could. Jon, like Falk, was nearly his old self again after a day or two. Rin was equally recovered, but his husband still needed a few more days before the healers thought he should brave the trip home—I also suspected there was a great deal of discussion that took place between himself, my lover, and the high king. I don’t know how or if Queen Elora was involved in these discussions, but I assumed she must be. What had happened was no small thing, and I knew Alain would have a great deal to answer for. However, I’d also gathered that Ulfric wanted this alliance too badly to let it all fall to pieces, but whether he was successful or not, well—it wasn’t for _me_ to understand or concern myself with such things.

Of all those who lay in their beds recovering, Casien appeared to struggle the most. He was no longer in any true danger, Errin assured me, but it was difficult to witness his slow recovery. Still, he did his best to assure me that he was quite used to long recoveries, and it was to be expected at this point. When he was awake and feeling up to it, I would spend time in his bedroom, reading side-by-side with him and pausing here and there to discuss. We managed to finish that book about the princes after all, and he teased me for the way I sighed at the end and held the book close to my chest.

The other jarls naturally wanted to know who had committed such a heinous act against their great country. Falk shared their concerns with me every evening—concerns that I think weighed heavily upon him, for the act had been committed in his hold, in this very building. I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about Captain Reyna, but Soren told me that she had removed herself to the city barracks for now, and that she had taken it upon herself to see this investigation through before she left for Dragon Bridge.

At first, there were no answers to give the jarls. But, after three days, I learned that the man who’d committed the initial act had actually been caught.

“He very likely wasn’t working alone,” said Falk, as he poured us both a glass of wine—we were having dinner on the rooftop, though he’d winked and made me promise not to tell Errin, for he didn’t think she would have given him permission to do so. “But as to who he may have been working for—well, I fear that much at least remains a mystery.”

“…Who do _you_ think may have been behind it all?” I asked, for though the subject unnerved me, I could see that he needed to talk about it.

“Do you recall my telling you that Ulfric has many enemies?” When I nodded, he sighed. “I suppose in my naiveté I assumed those enemies would not extend to those of us who governed beneath him. Suffice it to say, it could be virtually anyone, for a ‘free and independent Skyrim’ rankles the pride and ignites the fury of many. The Empire? The Dominion? A separate faction of the Thalmor, working independently from their superiors? Perhaps even some angry thane in this very city who felt they deserved to be lifted up in place of myself.” He shook his head. “At present it remains impossible to say.”

“Is there no way to learn the truth from him?” I asked, before poking my fork at a piece of sautéed horker steak.

He gave me an aggrieved look.

“Some would have us torture the man. I was against this, and as the act was committed in my hold… but there are some who still disagree with my appointment as jarl. I am lucky that Ulfric himself supported me in my refusal to torture our prisoner, though I think it had more to do with his own…”

He trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly as he gazed at me.

“…What?” I asked, flushing a little as I reached for another sip of wine.

“Ah,” he said, a sheepish smile coming to his face. “I was suddenly reminded of our first date. Me talking politics, you looking as though you wished to be anywhere else but here…”

“…That wasn’t how it was at all!” I said, laughing.

“Perhaps not. And yet… I know how you dislike discussing such things.” He was quiet for a moment; then he reached out and took my hand in his—not unlike the way he had on our first date. “Thank you for listening to me. But if any of this distresses you…”

“It doesn’t,” I insisted.

He gave me a look.

I sighed.

“…Maybe a little. But I want to be someone you can talk to. Is that…” I flushed, realizing how that probably sounded. “That isn’t wrong of me. Is it?”

“Of course not,” he said, smiling and squeezing my hand in his. “It only makes me question what I’ve ever done to deserve someone like you in my life.”

As that sort of talk _did_ rather distress me, I begged him to stop at once, and he laughingly complied. Was he allowed to compliment me, so long as he did not denigrate himself in the process? Yes, I said, rolling my eyes and no doubt doing a poor job of hiding my smile. And was he allowed to kiss me? (He must naturally kiss my hand to demonstrate.) To put his arms around me and…? Not until we’d finished dinner, I said, and he made a pouting sort of face that made me laugh so hard I nearly spilled my wine all over our dinner.

It was possible, then, to be with him and still be… myself? I wasn’t sure how else to make sense of it. But I was beginning to finally see that I didn’t have to change who I was to be a part of his life. Ulfric had helped me understand that superficial differences couldn’t really keep two people apart, unless they both allowed them to. If you cared for one another—if you enjoyed being together—if you could accept one another’s differences, whether that be in personality, culture, or day-to-day living—then there was no real reason why you _shouldn’t_ be together.

And perhaps, for the first time since our relationship had begun, I stopped thinking about Bryling.

I felt strangely awful about the way I’d been comparing myself to her when I’d never actually even _met_ her. I knew virtually nothing about her, and what had happened between her and my lover was in the past—and, frankly, none of my business (though I was certain he would tell me if I asked). But Jon had been right: Bryling hadn’t broken his heart because she’d refused to marry him. She’d broken his heart because she’d left him. And as I had no intentions of doing the same, it rather occurred to me one morning—the morning after our rooftop dinner, to be precise—that I might as well stay right where I was. And I was quite certain the man just beginning to stir beside me in bed would be quite all right with that.

The feeling stayed with me for most of the rest of the day. I forwent visiting my friends for once and went into town instead. Well, I had to drop off my latest manuscript, but it also felt like a good time to get away from the palace. I didn’t inform anyone of my intentions—it hadn’t occurred to me that I should—but at some point I did realize I probably shouldn’t be walking about alone four days after an assassination attempt against me, my lover and every other ruler in Skyrim—I myself may have been considered collateral damage, but still. Luckily, no one appeared out of the shadows of alleyways to finish the job on me at least, and I got to see Karita. I was finally able to apologize for my outburst the other day, and she did the same for teasing me so much. When I told her about my chat with Ulfric, and the realizations I’d come to, she was, not surprisingly, thrilled.

“Am I allowed to say that I think you’re going to enjoy married life?” she asked, smiling and elbowing me gently.

I laughed and said I didn’t wish to count on a thing until it happened, and she actually agreed that this was sensible. But at least, she pointed out, I was no longer afraid to even discuss the possibility.

I made my leisurely way back to the palace that afternoon. Yet another front was passing through, and gray clouds hung heavily in the sky, though the rain had yet to fall. They didn’t dampen my good mood, fortunately. I was carrying with me a sweet cream bun, for I’d had one in the market and had so enjoyed it I thought I might bring one home for my beloved. It would give me an excuse to visit him in his office, and I didn’t think he’d mind so short an interruption.

His office was on the first floor, not far from Soren’s, actually, and I knew the way. I passed a few servants who gave me kind, knowing smiles, and I couldn’t help smiling back. There was a guard stationed at the jarl’s office door, and when she saw me, she smiled and nodded as well. I smiled and put my hand on the door handle—then paused.

“…so you would put him through all of this again? Place him in constant danger?”

That was Soren’s voice. I hesitated still, my heart now thumping in my chest. I felt strangely certain that he was talking about _me_.

“You would marry him?” he continued after a short pause.

“…No,” came the quiet response. “I cannot marry him.”

I knew that voice well. I backed away from the door as if it had bitten me. I looked at the guard—I knew she had heard, too—and her expression was one of anxious guilt and sorrow.

Without thinking, I handed her the sweet cream bun and began walking back in the opposite direction.

“My lord, wait!” she called, but I didn’t stop. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I had to get away.

And I definitely couldn’t bear to see or speak to the man whose words had just shattered my heart so completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bards... so dramatique!!! 😏 Oh no, guess Laurie won't get his 'happily ever after' after all 😔


	32. Chapter 32

I felt like such a fool.

For weeks, I’d had these feelings pressing against me—to become a part of his life or to keep myself apart from it and all that it represented. Every time I’d caught myself doing it, chastised myself for worrying relentlessly over something that hadn’t even happened, my friends would assure me that it had already all _but_ happened. Jon, Karita, Casien and Ulfric, Alain and Rin—they all seemed to think it was a sure thing. What was it Alain had said? _A king doesn’t invite you to dinner if he doesn’t think you intend to stay._

Except he’d been wrong. They were all wrong.

Falk wasn’t going to marry me after all.

I was in my room before I realized I’d even been heading in that direction. I hastily closed the door behind me, leaning back against it with eyes closed, heart pounding furiously in my chest. No—I was not going to allow myself to fall ill over something like this. I swallowed and counted my breaths, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek as I did so.

But it was no use. I opened my eyes again. The room tilted slightly, and I whimpered, curling my fingers inward, blunt nails digging into the wood of the door behind me. It was my failed audition all over again—months of hope and expectation dashed against the hard, stone wall of reality. And just as I had then, I realized I needed to get away from it all.

I began packing in haste. I grabbed a handful of items from the armoire and stuffed them into my backpack. Toothbrush and hairbrush, even shaving supplies—I had left all of those in _his_ room. I’d just have to purchase new ones. My tea, of course, then my leather satchel containing all my writing. Lastly, my lute, which I slung over my shoulder, where it sat somewhat awkwardly against my backpack.

I think I left the door open behind me, but I’m not sure. I just needed to _go_. Servants gave me curious looks when they saw me, for I suppose I painted a startling picture: all my worldly possessions on my back, with gods only knew what sort of expression on my face. Outside the palace, the weather had worsened, but I paid it little mind. Dark clouds rumbled overhead, and wind whipped my hair around my shoulders and in my face. A few fat raindrops splattered against my cheeks, but the sky held itself together for now.

I let my feet take me where they would, passing the beautiful royal gardens and the fine houses of the noble folk who were always so eager to curry favor with the jarl—and all those close to him. Which wasn’t me, I supposed, and now a burning sort of humiliation washed over me, for eventually everyone would know that the jarl never intended to marry me. I would never be anything more than his lover. Would sharing his bed make me important enough in the eyes of a sycophantic thane? I honestly had no idea.

I had to sit down to rest at some point. I was too upset, and I could feel my hands shaking. A breathless feeling had come over me, so unless I wanted to create a scene in the middle of the streets of Solitude—I forced myself to pause and take a seat wearily on a stone bench.

It was, I realized mildly, the same bench I had once shared with Karita, after we’d first dropped off my manuscript at _The Red Rose_ ’s office. The thought of my inevitable failure had so overcome me I’d suddenly found myself dizzy, so she’d urged me to sit, then distracted me by teasing me about my ‘handsome guard captain.’ The memory made me smile, though of course the expression faded almost as soon as it had appeared.

The truth was, I had made a picture of love—envisioned it the way I liked to write it, neatly boxed it up and tied a lovely, red bow around it. As if there were simple, universal rules that every relationship must follow. Now, finally, my inexperience with life and love had come to play its part. Because while marriage might be the anticipated end in romance novels—no one wanted to read about the hero or heroine being rejected by their beloved in the final few chapters of the book—reality was far, far different. And to think it had been staring me in the face ever since Jon had told me about the unhappy fate of Lady Bryling.

What was it Soren had said? _You would place him in constant danger._ Maybe that was why Bryling had left, too. I couldn’t imagine any greater insult to the pride of a Nord. Why should she harbor any fear of assassins or war or—gods forbid—meetings and balls and state dinners?

I sighed, leaning my head back against the building behind me. I was being dramatic, relying on assumption and giving in to my own personal grief. According to Jon, no one really knew why they had separated. I didn’t know if he had asked her to marry him or not. I didn’t know if _she_ had asked _him_. All I knew was that he didn’t plan to ask me.

Maybe that was what he was so afraid of: Tying me to him, linking us in a way that would draw me ever closer to his sphere of influence. And to this he had given a definitive ‘no.’ Did I not get some say in the matter? Suppose I thought the endeavor worth the risk. Suppose I made the choice to brave that constant danger, just so I could lie beside the one I loved each night and know that he was mine, and I was his. Was I not considered competent enough—intelligent enough—to make that decision for myself?

And just like that, I became _angry_.

Angry that he should rob me of the right to choose him over all others. Angry that he didn’t think me capable of making that choice in the first place. Angry that he felt he needed _Soren_ to convince him that what he was doing was right! I liked Soren—he was kind and gentle and good, and he’d taken care of me in a way I could acknowledge I _needed_ to be cared for. I was naïve and anxious and in poor health, and I didn’t mind relying on other people, people who cared for me, respected me. But this was not respect. This was treating me as if I weren’t capable of making such an important decision for myself.

Some of my anger left me then, dissipating almost as swiftly as it had come. Instead, all I really felt was tired… tired and lost, only I wasn’t quite sure what it was I had lost just yet. After a moment, I stood up again, shifting my backpack and lute behind me. At least I knew where to go now—where I could just pause and think about what I’d heard, and what I ought to do about it—if anything.

Karita had been my first friend in Solitude, so it seemed right that I was returning to her again. She’d make me feel better, too, and help me figure out what my next step should be. She might even let me stay the night in her room, for I wasn’t sure I could handle being by myself. But if not, I had plenty of coin with me, and could easily afford a room for myself for the next several days if necessary. But when I found myself thinking about having to eventually decide whether I should stay or leave for good—I could feel my face start to crumble. I hastily put the thought out of my head for now. There was no reason to think about that just yet.

I knew my way around the city well enough by now to know I was at least halfway there. Soon I’d see the familiar thatched roof of the Skeever rising up from amidst the other buildings, smoke from the kitchens and the common room and the various patron rooms twining into the night sky. The thought filled me with a strange sort of dread. I suppose I knew in my heart I was really only running away from my problems yet again.

_…Laurie!_

I paused, gloomy thoughts momentarily fading. It almost sounded as if someone had been calling my name. But the wind had picked up even more now, and the city streets were filled with chattering townsfolk, holding their cloaks about them and hurrying to their destinations before the clouds let loose.

“LAURIE!”

I whirled around, for there was no mistaking it that time. Someone _was_ calling to me, and it was from behind. I saw the crowd behind me pausing as I did, some moving hastily out of the way, others staring in wide-eyed astonishment.

“Divines!” I heard someone cry above the sound of the others, “it’s the jarl!”

Immediately, I felt myself freeze up. _The jarl?!_ The crowd parted before me; I could feel my heart racing in my chest. Several people looked at me now and began gesturing and pointing in excitement. I swallowed and took a step back, biting down on the inside of my cheek along with my instinct to turn tail and disappear for good.

“Laurie…!”

He called to me again, his voice trailing off at the end of it, for now he saw that _I_ saw _him_. The handsome blue coat he’d buttoned on this morning was gone, and his sleeves were rolled up, his boots splattered with mud. His freckled face was nearly as red as his hair, for he was running, or at least he had been, before he came to a stop before me, his chest heaving beneath his tunic.

“Oh gods!” he said, the words more of a wheeze than anything, and when he finally bent forward and lowered his head, gasping for air, hands resting on his knees—I lost all my earlier trepidation and hurried towards him.

“What are you _doing_?” I asked, laying my hands anxiously on his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be running like that! Does Errin know…?”

I trailed off when he looked up at me, a weary smile spreading over his ridiculous face. I huffed and took a step back, as though suddenly remembering all at once why I was so angry with him—that I _was_ angry with him!

His expression faltered, and he straightened again, with effort. The skies finally opened up above us, and the rain began to fall, though it was little more than a drizzle for now.

“I went to your room, but… Your door was open, and your things were gone. I thought the worst. I…” He grimaced. “By the Nine, what you must think of me…!”

I shook my head, my hands wrapping and squeezing around the handles of my backpack. He made as if to reach out to me, but before I could stop myself, I took a step back. His expression crumbled again.

“Laurie…” he began again.

“You shouldn’t be here!” I persisted. “If Errin finds out…”

“What you must have heard—Laurie, I swear to you, it isn’t what it sounded like!”

I felt tears sting my eyes. Was he really going to make me _cry_ in the middle of the streets of Solitude? Was this really how it was all going to end—rain starting to pour down between us while people stared in disbelief at the two of us?

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I asked. “If you never intended to marry me—

“No!” he said, lifting his hands, though he made no further move towards me. “You misunderstand, I swear it! Truly, I always _meant_ —

“I heard him,” I continued. “I heard Soren. He asked you, and you said no. You said _no_!” I blinked, and if there were tears on my cheeks now, they were indiscernible from the now persistent droplets of rain. “You said you couldn’t marry me. Just like you couldn’t marry Lady Bryling!”

Horror subsumed me as soon as the name left my lips. It was wrong of me—despite all that had happened—so _wrong_ of me to bring her into this. I saw the pained look flicker over his face, as though my words had physically struck him.

“No,” he said, “Laurie, no, it wasn’t—Bryling was—gods, it was so much more than that. I was a fool; I—I waited _too long_ , gods damn me. I assumed she would always be there, and that was wrong of me. By the time she told me she was leaving, it was already too late for us. But Laurie, I didn’t want that to happen to us!”

I shook my head, sniffing and dragging the back of my hand across my nose. I didn’t understand. He waited too long with Bryling—was that why he’d decided so early into our own relationship that marriage was never even going to be an option?

“…I …I don’t understand,” I finally admitted. “Why…?”

I couldn’t help shivering, too, for my clothing was now soaking wet, and the temperature was beginning to drop. The cold and the wet couldn’t be doing his own recovery any good, either.

“Dearest, please,” he urged, coming towards me. I didn’t step away from him this time, but he paused anyway, not yet touching me, an arm’s width between us. “At least come out of the rain with me. I promise I’ll—

“No!”

The reply sprang off the tip of my tongue so quickly it even surprised _me_. But I recovered quickly, pressing my lips together and squaring my shoulders. I thought of my mother—the one who’d been in the army, the one who told me I was too independent sometimes, but it was she who’d taught me to stand up for myself in the first place.

“Tell me _now_ ,” I continued. “Tell me why you said what you said to Soren. Tell me why I’m never to be anything more than the plaything of a Skyrim king.”

He looked stricken.

“You could never be that,” he finally managed, “nor have you ever been. I’ve wronged you, I know, though I most certainly didn’t mean to. You see, I’d been—thinking of our future together, ever since you saved me.”

“…Since I saved you?” I interrupted, confused.

He smiled, the expression unexpectedly fond.

“The tea,” he continued, “Or have you once again forgotten how the entire palace owes you their lives? Ever since then, I’ve been thinking about _us_ , but I—I couldn’t ignore what had happened. That being with me had put your life in danger.”

“But—don’t you think I deserve the right to choose whether I want that life or not?”

“I do. But my heart was still heavy at the thought of inadvertently putting you in such danger. And so—You must understand, Soren and I—we’ve known one another since we were boys. I tell him everything, Laurie; before you, he was the only one I could allow myself to trust, to confide in, whether it be matters of the heart or of state. And he saw my fear—I was never good, I suppose, at hiding what I feel, especially from those who know me best.”

Well, that much was certainly true. He had an expressive face—one that blushed when he was bashful, fell when he was anxious or upset, or brightened like the sun when he was pleased. It was one of the many things I adored about him.

“Soren offered to play devil’s advocate with me. _Let me argue against your marrying him_ , he said. _Convince yourself, if you can, that it is the wrong thing to do. Lie if you must, but let yourself say the words: say that you can’t marry him, that you won’t. Then—examine your feelings afterward._ So I did. He asked me, and I said those awful words, and, by all the Divines, Laurie, I have never felt so wretched in all my life. I wanted to take them back immediately, even knowing they had been insincere. And Soren knew. _There_ , he said. _I think you have your answer._ ”

I stared at him, blinking, scarcely able to believe what he was telling me. And I knew he spoke truthfully, for he was not the type of man to indulge in falsehoods, even for his own personal gain. He had always ever been honest with me—save for when we had first met, and he had concealed his identity from me. But I’d long since forgiven him that. And now I could even acknowledge that he’d only done so because he realized he’d been developing feelings for me, and all his past traumas told him that as soon as I learned who he was—I would only end up rejecting him.

“…So,” I blinked again, still trying to understand. “You don’t… _not_ want to marry me?”

“Yes!” he said, but then he frowned. “No… that is, I _do_ …”

His expression faltered, and he looked surprised, as though his own words had startled him, or—as though he’d said something he hadn’t quite meant to say. At least not yet.

He swallowed and blinked. Raindrops splattered against his face and in his hair, one sliding down the tip of his nose, but he didn’t seem to notice them.

“As I said, I’ve been… thinking about this for some time. I did research…” He smiled, as though I ought to be proud of him. “On Breton culture. So that I might know how it’s done in High Rock. In Skyrim, you see, we wear an amulet, an amulet of Mara—

“I know,” I said, for of course I’d read many romances set in Skyrim. I had even begun to write a few myself.

He smiled again.

“Of course you do. But in High Rock, you… you kneel. Do you not?”

And then I watched as he slowly lowered himself down onto one knee.

“…Oh,” I said, my heart beating fast in my chest.

The smile he gave me now was brilliant.

“I know you’ve been terrified that I might ask you this very question. I ought to have made it clear to you that being married to me brings about no obligation on your part, other than to be my partner in life, as I would have myself be yours.”

I stared down at him, unable to speak at first. I was aware of a small crowd gathering around us, even despite the rain, but I suppose the sight of one’s jarl kneeling in the dirty street before a strange elf wasn’t something to be missed.

“…You’re asking me to marry you,” I finally managed.

I felt woozy, as if I might faint. But I lay my hand over my heart, and forced myself to focus on his beautiful, anxious, smiling face.

“Yes,” he said. “I am. Dearest, loveliest Laurie—I swear to you, you don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to do or be anything you don’t wish to be. Just say you will be my husband, and all I will ask from you is your forgiveness for how cruelly and foolishly I have treated you.”

All I could do at first was gaze down at him in disbelief. The rain was falling much harder now, and I suppose he must have known what my answer would surely be, because he was smiling up at me as if he’d already announced our engagement to the world—which, in a way, I suppose he had.

“Mara’s mercy,” cried a woman from the crowd, “Just say yes, lad!”

“Yes,” I said, laughing, and all at once the rest of the crowd began laughing and cheering. My lover rose back up onto his feet and surprised me by picking me up and spinning me around and around. I was laughing again when he set me back down, but then he cupped his hands around my face, and I gazed at him for what felt like an eternity: my beautiful, silly, magnificent future husband.

He kissed me, of course, right there in the middle of the street with the rain pouring down around us. He had his arms around my waist, but it was an awkward affair, what with me toting around half my worldly possessions on my back.

“You thought I was leaving,” I said, realizing. “Leaving Solitude.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled my neck.

But when he lifted his head again, his face was flushed, and his eyes looked damp, and I realized with horror—I had very nearly broken his heart a second time.

“…I’m sorry,” I said, feeling tears gathering in my own eyes again. “I just thought…”

“It’s all right, Laurie,” he said, cupping my face again. “Everything… it’s going to be all right.”

There was something magical about those words, the way he looked at me and held me as he said them. It was as though the heavy burden I’d been carrying around me for weeks now had been suddenly lifted. I could, for one brief instant, see my future shining before me—a future where I was happy and free, where I spent my days making art and music and my nights in the arms of the man I loved with my entire heart.

“Now,” he murmured, his face still close to mine, “shall we get out of this rain? Before it lands us both in our sickbeds—and then I shall _really_ be in for it with Errin.”

I laughed and nodded—kissed him again for good measure, and took a step back, taking his hand in mind. In fact, we were very near a place I had come to know rather well, where a pair of elderly sisters liked to fill me with tea and toast and chat about the latest publishing trends in children’s fiction. I wasn’t so certain he would find interest in the latter, but the former would always be welcome—and I had a feeling our hosts would be rather pleased to meet him.

The crowd parted before us, beaming faces and cheers to our good health trailing us in our wake. And despite the continuous downpour all around us, and the fact that the rain was now seriously in danger of soaking through my lute’s otherwise watertight case… I don’t think I’d ever been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was technically the "final chapter" of Laurie's story, but the more I wrote, the harder it became to just end things. There are therefore two LOOONG epilogues that will follow (Chapters 33 and 34) as all the little individual stories get tied up. 
> 
> And don't worry: both will contain plenty of shmoopy Falk and Laurie scenes 💗💗
> 
> ⭐⭐⭐
> 
> Check out a couple Laurie portraits!!!!  
> https://curiousartemis.tumblr.com/post/639537129017475072  
> https://curiousartemis.tumblr.com/post/637370658377138176/blessings-of-mara-be-upon-me-an-amazing-reader
> 
> As well as a one-shot inspired by Laurie's story!! (Consider this canon!!) 👇👇👇


	33. Epilogue, Part 1

The sisters had been very surprised to see me when I turned up on their doorstep, but I suppose they were even more surprised by who I had brought with me.

“Well!” said Ullia, as she bustled about the sitting room, “Engaged to a jarl! That’s quite an accomplishment, my dear.”

“And having a naked jarl shivering in our sitting room must be _our_ greatest accomplishment, sister!” chirped Betia, setting down the tea things before us.

They both laughed; I smiled and glanced at my blushing lover before reaching for a piece of buttered bread. We were both sitting on their couch, stripped to our underwear and huddled together under very large blankets. Our wet things had been laid out near the kitchen fire by a maid, or so we were told, along with our boots and my lute case and satchel.

“And how do you like your tea, my lord?” asked Betia, beaming at him as she poured us each a cup.

“Only a little sugar,” he said. “Oh—yes, that’s perfect, thank you.”

“It’s the blueberry and lemon mixture, dear,” she said, winking at me as she fixed mine. She, of course, knew just how I liked it. “One of your favorites, I believe.”

“Very much so,” I agreed, eagerly taking it from her.

“And will you be giving up your writing?” asked Ullia, settling down in the chair across from us. “Now that you’re to be married.”

“…Why would I do that?” I asked, startled.

“Well, I imagine you’ll be quite busy, seeing to a new household that just so happens to be a palace.”

“Indeed!” agreed her sister. “The literary world will keenly feel the lack, I assure you.”

“Not that we aren’t happy for you, mind you,” said Ullia, smiling.

I shook my head, unable to speak at first—when I glanced at my lover, I was surprised to see him looking right back at me, his lips twitching slightly.

“…No,” I said, breathing in and straightening my shoulders a little. “I won’t be giving up my writing. Or my music, for that matter.”

Betia and Ullia both smiled and exchanged a look.

“That is just as we expected,” said Betia.

A boy had been sent back to the palace with word of where we both were, so in short time, a pair of guards arrived with horses, fresh clothing, and cloaks to shield us from the rain. Ullia and Betia promised to send our wet things back once they were finished drying. I don’t think there’s anyone I would have trusted more with my satchel full of stories—or my lute for that matter.

“You sit a horse very well,” said my lover, appraising me with a smile after we’d both mounted and begun to make our way back to the palace.

“We’ve always kept a horse or two on the farm,” I said, returning his smile. “My mothers didn’t like me walking too far, either, and I didn’t mind it. I’ve always enjoyed riding.”

He gave me a thoughtful look, though when he noticed me returning it, he looked away again, a faint flush coming to his face.

“Perhaps, once the moot is over… That is, I’m fond of a ride myself every now and then. And there are quite a few fair prospects outside the city. I could take you to them…”

“I’d love that,” I said, and he seemed so pleased by my answer I couldn’t help laughing.

My happy feelings refused to diminish, not even after Errin had reprimanded us both: me for trying to hustle my way through the city despite my condition, and my lover for running after me when he was still recovering.

“Or must I remind you, my lord, that you were very nearly _dead_ a few days ago?” she asked, only standing while we sat, I presumed, so that she might glower down at him from behind her desk.

He was, unsurprisingly, ordered to bed—or at least the sitting room—for the remainder of the day. Of course, that didn’t stop him from working, though this time, instead of moving his own office upstairs as well, Soren simply employed a servant as a go-between. I, meanwhile, was instructed by Errin to make certain my future husband did not leave his couch except to attend to his own bodily needs. _He has a tendency to fidget and pace when he’s thinking_ , she said. _You are NOT to allow this_. I wasn’t exactly certain how I was to prevent it, but, fortunately, he actually was so fatigued he didn’t seem to _want_ to leave the couch.

“This is your fault, you know,” he said towards the end of the day, now lying fully back against the couch, his eyes closed. “For making me run after you.”

“Maybe if you had just asked me to marry you instead of practicing on Soren first, you wouldn’t have had to,” I replied.

When I looked up from my writing, he was staring at me with one eye open.

“…Mean,” he said.

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he laughed.

The days passed by slowly, lengthening and bringing with them a familiar, lazy sort of heat. The palace began to grow more and more empty as guests finally recovered and were given leave by healers to return home. There was always great fanfare when a jarl and their retinue departed the city, though I generally kept myself away from it all. No one chastised me for doing so, for I think it was understood between myself and Falk that I wasn’t to be a traditional royal spouse—in fact, there was very little about me that felt ‘royal’ at all. I even kept my room (though I spent my nights with him, of course), just so I could have a place to think and work in peace. If it wasn’t raining, I was very likely to be found in one of the many gardens, regardless of what might be going on in the palace. If I visited with any of the guests, it was only because I considered them my friends—not because it was my duty to do so.

All of my friends were very happy to learn of our engagement. I think Jon very nearly started weeping. I told him he was still far too invested in my love life before he grabbed me and pulled me into the tightest hug he’d ever given me.

Casien, not surprisingly, had the most to say about it—and the most advice to give. I didn’t mind, honestly, as his experience as a common-born elf married to a Nord king was more than relevant.

“People won’t know how to treat you,” he explained. He was still bed-ridden, but quite able to sit up and chat for hours—though, as usual, he did most of the chatting. “That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Some of the servants will still be friendly with you, for example, but then they’ll get told by their superiors that it isn’t proper. So don’t be alarmed if people start to seem a bit more distant.”

“I don’t really talk to anyone,” I admitted, and the indulgent smile he gave me made me blush. “Though the servants are always very nice to me.”

“I’m sure that won’t change. In town, once people know who you are, they’ll start doing whatever they can to get you to patronize their shop. It’s good for business to have a jarl’s husband seen shopping in your storefront. But some will disagree. They won’t like that he’s marrying an elf, and they’ll be extra rude to you. It might come as a surprise, since the last shop owner practically fell over themselves trying to accommodate you.”

He also told me that some of the local thanes would very likely resent the match, even if they were too clever to say otherwise. They would bow and call me ‘my lord,’ but behind my back they might be constantly plotting. He’d had folk agree to meet with him then stand him up—on purpose, he suspected—or promise funding for a project, then withhold it. He rarely shared these sorts of things with his husband, for Ulfric’s temper could sometimes only escalate a situation rather than defuse it. At the end of the day, he said, he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. He only wanted those who needed assistance—whether it was a new school or a healing ward or upgraded sewage system—to receive it.

When I told him I wasn’t really planning to involve myself in the running of the city, he said he understood, but that I might change my mind if I ever happened across a cause that was dear to my heart. And Falk and Soren, he felt, were sure to support me in it.

“And they’ll find ways to help you, so that you don’t have to involve yourself publicly, if you don’t wish to.” He paused, seeming to think. “I guess if there’s one piece of advice I could give you, it’s to trust your husband. If something’s bothering you, tell him. Even if he doesn’t have the answer to your problem, it’ll still help to know that _he_ knows. It’s just nice, I guess, having someone to share your thoughts with, you know?”

I think I did. I’m not certain Falk and I were there yet, but I hoped we might someday be. He was still hesitant to share certain things with me, fearful that they might distress me. And I was simply unused to sharing myself with anyone, let alone a lover. I had been a lonely child, and I suppose that had caused me to grow into a lonely adult. But I was in love now, for the first time in my life, and now I was going to be married. I had the chance to share myself in ways I’d never thought I could. It made sense that I should take that chance, if I could.

Karita took the news of my engagement with surprising calm—though the fact that Jon kept giving her little looks probably had something to do with that. She hugged me and reminded me that I was to let her play at my wedding, and I couldn’t help blushing and saying there’d been no talk of a wedding just yet. In fact, I rather hoped it would be put off for as long as possible, for I imagined it would be quite the grand affair.

“You know, Laurie,” she said, one gloomy afternoon—which was why we were currently in Jon’s sitting room instead of outside in the garden—“It’ll be your wedding, too. That means you get to decide on the venue, the guest list, the food…”

“The entertainment,” said Jon, grinning when she threw a pillow at him.

“I’m serious,” she continued. “It isn’t as if that jarl of yours is some tyrant who never seeks out your opinion on anything. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’d only have to say the word, and he’d let you plan the whole thing, just as you like it.”

“Sure,” quipped Jon, “but Soren wouldn’t.”

“Hang Soren,” said Karita, frowning. “He isn’t the one getting married.”

“No, but he pretty much runs the place, and he’d know better than to snub the richest families in Solitude when it comes to the event of the season—which I have a feeling Laurie would do.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I protested, but when he gave me one of his looks, I just sighed.

“Poor Laurie,” said Karita, shaking her head at me. “You’d probably prefer a little private ceremony, just the two of you.”

It was a surprisingly pleasant thought. But Jon was right: there was no way I’d ever be allowed to eschew the wedding altogether, no matter how much my lover ached to cater to my every wish.

“It won’t be so bad,” said Jon. “Trust me. When I first saw ‘Fina in her wedding dress, it just sort of hit me all at once. Not only was I getting married, but I was getting married to _the jarl_ —and the most beautiful jarl in the history of Skyrim, at that.”

“Aww,” said Karita, smiling.

“So just think about that handsome old man of yours, Laurie, all gussied up and beaming at you on your wedding day. Then everything else will just melt away.”

“Forty-four is _not_ _old_ …” I insisted for perhaps the hundredth time.

The laughter of the other two was interrupted by a knock at the door to Jon’s apartment. We were already in the sitting room, so rather than bid them to enter, Jon simply got up, walked a few feet towards the door, and opened it.

Standing in the doorway was a tall Nord woman of such exquisite beauty that I felt even _my_ breath catch in my throat. Her long, white-gold hair was pulled behind her head, and her clothing was very fine, but her riding skirts were dirty, and her pale face was flushed. She wore a sword strapped to her waist, as did many Nords—though, in my limited experience, only the royal ones wore them so ubiquitously.

“…’Fina?” said Jon, as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. And really, I didn’t need to hear that name on his lips to guess at who the now smiling woman might be.

All at once, he swept her up into his arms, spinning her around and around and around. They both were laughing, then once he set her down, both began speaking at once. Their hands were all over each other, holding one another, touching one another’s faces—it was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

I blinked and looked up at Karita, who was suddenly standing beside me, tugging on my arm and nodding towards the door. I quickly got to my feet and followed her out of the room, closing the door behind us.

“…Casien!” I said, startling, for when I turned around, he was standing there with a rather smug smile on his face.

“Hi,” he said. “I was hoping you’d be with Jon. So… I was wondering if—

“Hang on a minute,” said Karita, and if she felt bothered over interrupting the husband of the high king of Skyrim, she certainly didn’t show it. “Are we getting an explanation for this?! Not that I’m not happy for Jon, but— _how_??”

“Oh,” said Casien, smiling and scratching a hand through his floofy hair, “Well…”

“… _You_ did this,” I said, realizing. “You mentioned it at the ball… You said Jon would see his wife ‘sooner than he thinks’…”

“I _may_ have written to Olfina when I first got here. Maybe. And there’s a small chance I spoke to the headmaster at the bard’s college, too, and helped him come up with a reason to keep Jon in the city long after the moot…”

“You _manipulative_ little…!” Karita gazed at Casien in seeming awe before finally laughing and nudging me with her shoulder. “Oh, I like this one, Lor. I like this one a lot!”

“Thanks,” said Casien, smiling again. “I think. Anyway, Olfina made arrangements back home and is going to spend a few weeks here. I figured Jon would enjoy showing her the sights a bit, and I have a feeling she’d like to see how he’s been living for the past year.”

“Did Ulfric ever visit you at the college in Winterhold?” I asked, getting an inkling for how he’d first hatched this plan.

“As a matter of fact, he did. He proposed to me there, actually. He couldn’t stay very long, though, since the war had just ended and he needed to return home.” He paused. “ _Speaking_ of the college…”

“Oh!” said Karita. “That’s right; you wanted to discuss something with Laurie. Well, before I leave…”

And I’m quite sure she startled poor Casien when she leaned over, grasped his chin, and planted a kiss on his cheek. He blinked up at her, a blush coming to his round face, and reached up to touch his cheek with one hand.

“That’s for Jon,” she said, laughing at his reaction (which was admittedly adorable). “He’s the best friend a girl could have, and I know he’d move the world for each of us if he could. It’s nice to see someone finally doing something for him.”

“…He deserves it,” I said, realizing that she was right.

Jon really had been the best friend a _boy_ could have, too, for who else had always been there for me throughout my time here in Solitude? Karita had, of course, but once I’d moved to the palace, I was only able to see her once or twice a week. Jon was always there, always willing to set aside whatever it was he was dealing with to help me in my moment of need. He didn’t bring up Olfina half as much as we teasingly accused him of doing so, and, for the most part, hid his depression and his loneliness so that he could focus on keeping _us_ happy instead.

I waved good-bye to Karita, then turned to follow Casien when he indicated that I should.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Healer Errin’s office. There’s someone I wanted you to meet. Well, two someones, actually—technically three, but I hadn’t even met the third person myself until just a few minutes ago. I asked Falk to meet us there, too, but—well, you’ll see.”

This was all rather mysterious, and I might normally have even been a bit anxious. But I trusted Casien, and knowing Falk would be there helped to keep me calm, and, if I’m being honest, probably helped lighten my steps a little, too.

I had never seen so many people crammed into Errin’s office before. It was quite a sight. Errin was standing behind her desk peering down at what looked like an anatomy book. Beside her stood a tall young man, a Nord, I think, though his hair was rather dark and he was clean-shaven. A young Altmer woman sat in one of the chairs behind the desk, and my lover sat next to her. And on his knee—my heart gave a surprised like _thump!_ and I felt myself blush for some reason—on his knee was a child, no more than two or three years old. She was a sweet creature with dark curls and slightly tilted ears, and I supposed that meant the young man and woman were a couple.

“Laurie!” said Falk, looking up at me with delight. “There you are!”

He leaned forward, handing the child back to her mother before standing up and coming towards me.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, taking both my hands in his and kissing them.

“Since this morning?” I asked, laughing, and he beamed and pulled me further into the room, indicating that I should sit next to the young woman and her daughter.

“Laurie,” said Casien, “This is Nirya and her husband Onmund. They’re my friends from the college. I’ve asked them to come up from Rorikstead to help found the new satellite college here in Solitude.”

“…Oh,” I said, looking at them both.

The man smiled when our eyes met. He had a warm, friendly sort of face, his dark hair tufting out from behind his ears. His wife appeared more reticent, not seeming to mind or notice as their daughter tugged at her long blond hair.

“Nirya’s a master enchanter,” said Casien.

“Only an adept still,” she said. “I’m far too young to be granted mastery.”

“You’re still one of the most talented enchanters _I_ know,” said Casien.

“Agreed,” said her husband, smiling down at her.

“Onmund is a healer,” Casien continued, “He’s going to help Nirya, but… I asked him to meet you today for a particular reason.”

Onmund smiled at me now, the expression small and warm—a healer’s smile. I recognized it easily enough.

“Healer Errin’s been explaining your condition to me,” he said. “I think I could help.”

For some reason, I felt my heart jump in my chest. I must have stiffened, and my fingers curled instinctively around the chair’s arms, for I felt Falk rest his hands on my shoulders and squeeze gently. I looked up at him, and he smiled, but said nothing.

“…How?” I asked, looking from Onmund to Errin now.

“He believes he can use magic to temporarily stabilize your heart,” said Errin. “A heart is a type of muscle, you see, Laurie, only it’s one we don’t consciously control. Yours, for whatever reason, doesn’t quite beat the way it’s supposed to. It’s rather complicated, I’m afraid, but that’s the general idea of it.”

“Our brain tells our body to do things,” said Onmund, “like blink our eyes or move our feet or make our hearts beat properly. Believe it or not, it uses a form of electricity.”

He nodded at Casien, who lifted a hand and, just as he’d once shown me before, caused a few little sparks to dance between his fingertips.

“One of the first things we learn as students of magic is that magicka is everywhere,” continued Onmund. “Even in our bodies. As a healer, I can use magicka to speak to your brain. I can tell it, in turn, to communicate better with your heart. It wouldn’t cure you, of course, but it would make life a lot easier for you, and you’d be in less overall danger. And… well, it wouldn’t be permanent. Technically, it’s a spell, and I’d have to recharge it regularly.”

“The magic part is, I grant you, a little beyond my area of expertise,” said Errin. “But the principle of the matter is sound. Our young friend is correct. The brain tells the heart how to function, and if he can, to some degree, stabilize how your brain communicates with your heart… well, I see no reason to object.”

“What do you think?” asked Casien, when I didn’t say anything immediately afterward. “I can vouch for Onmund, I promise. He’s the best healer I know.”

Onmund coughed and blushed and shot an apologetic look at Errin, who only smiled and shook her head.

“…I don’t know,” I finally said.

I started to chew on my bottom lip but then consciously stopped myself. I took a deep breath, then looked up at my lover.

“It’s your decision, Laurie,” he said, squeezing my shoulders again. “I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

I nodded, but I still felt a little too overwhelmed. I didn’t know anything about magic. And… _electricity_? I didn’t know what that was, either, and they said it was in my body? In my brain? What if something happened? What if something went horribly wrong?

“Maybe,” said Casien carefully, “he wouldn’t mind hearing your thoughts on the matter?”

I realized he was talking to Falk, who blinked and, after a moment, knelt down beside me. I heard his knees crack a little, and the position looked somewhat uncomfortable for him, which made me feel bad. But he smiled and took one of my hands in his, absently linking our fingers together.

“Well…” he began, appearing to think. “I suppose I’m with Errin. I don’t know much about magic myself, but if she thinks the principle is sound… and I don’t think she would advocate anything that would put you in danger.”

“Certainly not,” said Errin, smiling when I glanced up at her.

After a moment, I finally nodded again.

“…All right,” I said. I looked at Onmund. “If… you think it really is safe.”

“I do,” he promised. “I’ve been working on the spell for over a month now.”

I blinked.

“…Over a month!”

“I wrote to him some time ago,” said Casien, smiling sheepishly. “Right after I met you, actually.”

Falk, who had repositioned himself so that he sat down on the floor beside me—which I found amusing, for here was the jarl, the only one among us sitting on the floor—patted my hand in his.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I only just heard about this ‘satellite college’ a few days ago. It seems Lord Casien is rather fond of secrets.”

“It wasn’t a secret!” said Casien, blushing. “I just—I mean, with the moot and everything, there never seemed to be a good time to mention it. And then after the ball, and the assassination attempt—

“The WHAT?” asked Onmund.

I noticed Nirya sit up a bit, too, her arms going around their daughter.

Casien sighed.

“I guess I do need to get better at telling people things,” he admitted.

I snorted—I couldn’t help myself. They all turned to look at me, some more surprised than others. But gradually they began to smile, and then we were all laughing a little. Some of the tension I’d been holding in melted away. And when Onmund asked if I wouldn’t mind him trying his spell on me, I shook my head, _no_.

Falk continued to sit beside me and hold my hand the entire time. Onmund came to stand before me, drawing in a breath and seeming to focus before leaning towards me. He lay one hand gently over my heart; the other he lay against my forehead. I watched as his eyes slid closed, a furrow coming to his brow. I could feel warmth gathering in my body where he touched me—it was pleasant, and sort of tingly, and actually made me relax just a little bit more.

After a while, he straightened and smiled.

“There,” he said. “I think it worked. Your heartbeat should be steadier, just a little slower, too. You feel your heart sort of stutter sometimes, right?” When I nodded, he smiled. “That was partly your condition. That should go away, for the most part, but… fear and anxiety and other strong emotions can still make your heart do that, too. I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that.”

“That’s all right,” I said. Then I remembered to add: “Thank you.”

The beaming smile he gave me was almost blinding, and I couldn’t help admitting in that moment that I rather liked him. And I supposed that was a good thing, if it meant we’d be seeing one another regularly, depending on how often he needed to ‘recharge’ his spell.

“How do you feel?” asked my lover, peering up at me, my hand still held in his own.

“…Fine,” I said, smiling and hoping to relieve the obvious anxiety on his face.

He let out a breath and returned my smile, his hand squeezing mine.

“Wonderful. Now… I made it down here, but I’m not entirely certain I can make it back up, so if you would be so kind as to offer me some assistance…?”

I rolled my eyes but laughed, standing up so I could help pull him back up to his feet. He kissed me when I did, and I couldn’t help but blush and look away, for we were hardly alone. He must have noticed my embarrassment, for he lowered the hand he’d placed on my cheek (which had no doubt gone very hot), and, smiling, turned to address the others.

“If you three don’t mind, I’d like to continue discussing this satellite college you’re proposing. We should probably allow Healer Errin back the use of her office, however. We can retire to my own, which is just down the next hallway.”

“Would you mind watching Calia?” asked Nirya, turning to me.

I blinked, surprised by the request. But I was no stranger to spending time with children; the Bosmer family children were frequent visitors to our farm, after all, and my mothers loved to volunteer me to watch and play with the youngest while they worked.

“…I suppose,” I said.

“She’s pretty well-behaved,” said Onmund. “Well, _most_ of the time.”

“All of the time!” said Calia, giving her father an aggrieved look, causing all the adults in the room to laugh.

“Would you like to go with Laurie?” asked her mother, pushing a few dark curls back behind her ears.

“I believe one of the hounds had her pups in the stables a couple of weeks ago,” said Falk, smiling at her. “Perhaps Laurie could take you to them.”

Calia’s eyes went wide at this, and she turned to look at me, eager.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’,” said Onmund, grinning.

Nirya put her down and instructed her to hold my hand; she did so without complaint. I confess to feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and filled with warmth when those tiny fingers curled around my own. I was a little anxious as we made our slow and careful way out towards the stables, for I wondered what I was to do if their meeting should last longer than expected. I didn’t think Calia would be entertained by puppies for forever, and hadn’t a clue as to how I was to keep her occupied without them.

Luckily, not half an hour had passed before her parents returned. Nirya listened with seeming interest as Calia picked up each puppy and told her what she had named them before going into detail about why that one in particular should come and live with them. Onmund, meanwhile, asked me how I was feeling and asked if I wouldn’t mind seeing rather a lot of him over the next couple of days so he could monitor the success of the spell and make any tweaks if needed.

“Of course,” I said, laying my hand absently over my heart—though I felt nothing unusual, it was strange to think that there was magic there, helping my heart beat—if I understood it right—more slowly and more steadily.

“The jarl offered us a room here in the palace, but we felt we’d best take a house in the city, for Calia’s sake,” he said, smiling down at his wife and daughter. “Can’t imagine anyone here would appreciate a three-year-old running up and down the hallways at all hours of the day.”

“To say nothing of the stairs,” said Nirya, frowning.

“…Oh,” I said, surprised by the decision, though I supposed it made sense. “Perhaps you might still visit…”

I blushed as soon as the words left my lips, for I hardly knew either of them. But Onmund’s eyes widened, and he looked pleased by the suggestion. Nirya seemed neither for nor against it, but I think this was just her way.

“We’d love to!” said Onmund. “Well, when we’re not busy with Calia or the satellite college, anyway. Of course, Nirya’ll be more involved with that than I will. I was thinking about setting up a little practice in the city, but I don’t know. Maybe once Calia’s older.”

“And once people in this country become more used to seeing a mage for healing,” said his wife, frowning again.

Onmund laughed, one hand scratching sheepishly behind his hair.

“That, too!”

They were a lovely couple, and I found myself still talking about them that night as I lay beside my lover in bed. In particular, I couldn’t help admitting how nice it was to be around a _family_ —I’d rather missed that, in a way, for back home, not only did I have my own family, but there were the surrounding farms and their families, as well.

“I had no idea you were so fond of children,” said Falk, his fingers lazily tracing up and down my arm as he held me.

“…I don’t know that I am,” I said, frowning, for it almost felt like an accusation—though I knew that he hadn’t meant it that way. “I just miss…” I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You miss your family,” he said gently, turning his head so that our eyes met. “You miss your mothers.”

I nodded and sighed again, curling myself closer around him. He wasn’t wrong, though it made me feel silly to admit that he was right. I was twenty-five years old, after all—too old to be thinking of my parents as if I were still a child! But they had been a part of my life since the very beginning. And now, when something so wonderful, so monumental, had happened to me, they weren’t here to share it with me.

“Have you told them about me?” he asked. “…About us?”

I nodded.

“But they don’t know about our engagement. I haven’t written to them in a while.”

“I should love to meet them some day. The incredible women who raised my beautiful, talented Laurie…”

Of course I had to smile and press my face against his shoulder the way I always did when he complimented me so outrageously. And in turn, he must squeeze his arm around me and tease me with kisses all over the parts of my face he could still see. He had also recently discovered that I was quite ticklish in certain places and naturally chose then to remind me of that newfound discovery.

Was this what married life was really going to be like? All our evenings ending with my husband tickling me until I wept, then kissing me until I begged him not to stop. It seemed… too perfect, like the outline of a novel before you found yourself in the dredges of the reality of writing it. Maybe, I thought, as I finally set aside my manuscript and lay back down beside him, it wasn’t simply that all relationships were perfect. It was just that I had, in fact, somehow stumbled upon the perfect man. The silly thought made me smile, and I couldn’t resist running my fingers gently through his hair, down his nose, and against his soft-then-prickly bearded cheek. He was asleep—his breathing was so quiet and even—but he smiled when he felt my touch and even sighed.

Did he wonder the same thing? Conclude that I was, in my own silly way, ‘perfect’ for him? It was a ludicrous thought, but coming from him… I smiled and wrapped myself around him, closing my eyes and letting sleep eventually overcome me.


	34. Epilogue, Part 2

The very next day, I sat down to write my mothers a letter, but for once I found myself unable to find the right words to express what I wanted to say. _Falk asked me to marry him._ _I said yes._ It should have been easy enough to write—but the words seemed inadequate, incapable of evoking the overwhelming feelings of bewildered joy that rushed over me every time I thought about what had happened. If only they were _here_. I could tell them, and they would know, for they would see my happiness written plainly on my face.

But they weren’t here. And soon, neither were my friends. Jon and Olfina eventually had to begin the return journey to Whiterun, and, not long afterward, Casien was declared well enough to travel back to Windhelm. Falk and I rode down with them to the docks—I hadn’t accompanied any of the others who had come by sea, but Casien was different. I owed both him and his husband a great deal.

“How do you mean?” asked Casien, blinking, when I’d told him as much.

It was a beautiful day, a soft breeze washing up from the tops of the waves to ruffle our hair, the cries of seabirds and the shouts of dockworkers filling the air around us. Ulfric and Falk stood nearby, speaking to one another—Falk looked very grave, but he always wore that expression when speaking to Ulfric. If anything, he looked slightly less guarded than usual, which I took to be a good sign.

“I mean…” I looked from him back to Casien, trying to think of how to put the last few months’ experience into words. “I wasn’t prepared for this. For any of this. But you helped me to get there.”

Casien seemed surprised at first, but then, after a moment, he smiled.

“I remember when you asked me about kissing,” he said, and I’m sure I must have blushed because his smile grew just a little bit wider. “I thought it was so sweet. And I felt really happy for Falk—that he’d found someone like you.”

“…Pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” I said, laughing and still unable to look at him.

“Oh, no. It definitely goes both ways. And Laurie?” He waited until our eyes finally met again. “I’m glad I could help.”

What could I do then but hug him? I don’t think he was a hugger—I felt him tense a little at first, and couldn’t help smiling as I held him, for he was so little, yet so full of life. But eventually, I felt him relax and hug me back.

When I released him, Falk and Ulfric were watching us. My lover looked amused, and even Ulfric was smiling a little.

“I would hug you, too,” I said to him. “But I think it would make your husband jealous.”

“Don’t be silly!” sputtered Casien, and I had to bite my lip to (unsuccessfully) stay my own smile.

“A handshake, perhaps,” suggested Ulfric, and when he offered his hand to me, I took it.

He and Casien turned to board their ship then, and as we watched them go, Falk moved closer to me again. I felt his arm slip around my waist and squeeze me absently to him, after which I of course turned to press a kiss his cheek.

Casien stopped at the top of the gangplank to wave at us, and we waved back. Ulfric put his hand on his shoulder then, and together they stepped onto the ship and eventually disappeared inside the main cabin.

The palace seemed very empty that evening. There were no state dinners to attend, no meetings or balls to plan. Soren was apparently hosting his sister and her children that night, and invited us to eat with them. They were there for the week, so the following night I suggested we invite Nirya and Onmund, and then Calia could play with the other children. When I hesitantly suggested inviting Elisif the night after that, I was disappointed to be turned down—Elisif, he explained, preferred to remain outside the city.

But then he suggested that I accompany him to her house instead.

True, I had wanted to meet her for quite some time now, yet that want had always been (likely irrationally) juxtaposed with fear—she was the closest thing to family he seemed to have left, after all, and I imagined she was bound to have opinions about who her pseudo-elder brother shared his bed with. And now we were to be married! Falk, the man who had literally raised her, cared for her, _loved_ her as if she were his own, was marrying a foreigner, a commoner, and an elf—who was _younger_ than her _._

To say that I was nervous would have been an understatement.

It was a full day’s ride to get there, and we would have to spend the night after we arrived. Falk said he was used to making the trip twice a month, usually on Middas, but that he naturally hadn’t been able to the last few weeks, on account of the moot and what had happened afterward.

“As a matter of fact, I was on my way back from a visit there when we first met,” he said, as we made our way out towards the stables the following Middas morning.

“But… you had no horse,” I said, frowning.

He held my hand in his as we walked, swinging it lightly between us.

“I left the horse with the guards. On a whim, I decided to dismount and walk the last mile or so to the city. Of course, they weren’t too pleased about leaving me, but if I can’t defend myself so near my own city, what sort of jarl am I?” He smiled. “Or so I argued at the time.”

“Did you really have to argue? You _are_ the jarl…”

“Goodness, I can see the power’s going to go to _your_ head rather quickly.” He laughed when I smacked him. “Well, it may be true that the good citizens of Solitude, regardless of their profession or station in life, are legally obligated to do as I say. But I find that people tend to not respond very well when you order them about like a psychotic tyrant fulfilling a power fantasy.”

I supposed that made sense. In any case, I could hardly offer any sort of rebuttal, as the only other political figure I had met before him had been the mayor of Alverton, and she was a little Breton lady in her seventies who liked to sit on the porch of her home and swap stories with her constituents.

It looked like it was going to be another warm, lovely day as we exited the palace and approached the stables. Four guards mounted when they saw us approach; two others held the bridles of saddled horses—presumably our own. I noticed servants had already attached the saddlebags we had packed early this morning, and beneath them, both horses wore livery bearing the Solitude wolf’s head.

It was all a little bit unnerving, but I supposed I ought to have expected no less when traveling with a jarl. We mounted, and two of the guards rode off before us while the other two trailed behind us.

People in the city were always pleased to see their jarl, and many of them stopped to wave as we passed. Falk, unsurprisingly, always smiled and waved back. I was too overwhelmed to do the same—and I was quite certain they were not waving at _me_. It was a relief when we finally exited the city, though there were, of course, still many citizens milling about beyond the city walls, traveling, shopping, working. They, too, must stop and wave and call out to their friends, family, or co-workers: _It’s the jarl!_ _Look, it’s the jarl!_

“They’re curious,” said my lover, smiling at me as I continued to wilt under all the attention. “It’s only natural, I’m afraid.”

“Is that your betrothed, my lord?” called out one brave woman.

Falk didn’t answer her, only laughed before offering me a wink and leaning forward slightly in the saddle.

“Shall we pick up the pace?” he suggested.

I nodded gratefully, and we heeled our horses forward. The guards in front of us looked back and did the same, once they saw what we were about. We couldn’t push the horses much beyond a trot for the road was far from empty, and we naturally had no wish to send folk hurrying out of our way.

Once we left the outskirts of the city behind I began to finally relax. We passed rich, rolling farmlands and fields of cattle, sheep, and horses. There were always people, whether working in the fields, sharing the road with us, or gathering in the community centers we passed. Crossroads seemed to be popular places for folk to pause and chat, shop, or eat, and the guards often had to call out for the crowds to make way as we passed through them.

We stopped to eat a late lunch at a little inn (that I think was very used to catering to fine folk in general and the jarl in particular, for there was none of the usual staring and whispering) and were soon on our way again. The settlements became even more spread out, and, save for those we passed on the road, we saw fewer and fewer people.

The sun was just beginning to fall behind the mountains when we finally veered off to the left of the main road. Falk assured me that we were nearly there, and I was relieved—I wasn’t used to riding all day and could feel my body stiffening with soreness. A white painted fence ran along both sides of the lane we were on, and soon a large house loomed in the distance. This, I supposed, must be Elisif’s home—even a _former_ queen must live out her exile in relative luxury, apparently.

We dismounted, two of the guards dismounting as well so they could hold our horses. Falk smiled and took my hand, then together we walked up to the front door and knocked.

For whatever reason, I expected a servant to answer. But the tall, elegant, dark red-haired woman who opened the door was no servant.

“…Elisif!” said my lover, releasing me so he could take her two hands in his.

She returned his smile and laughed as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Almost immediately, however, he pulled away again and instead turned to me.

“This is Laurie,” he said, reaching out for me again. I stepped forward and felt his arm curl around my waist even as I smiled and tried my very best to meet Elisif’s eyes.

“Laurie,” she said, smiling and offering me her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Falk has told me so much about you.”

I glanced at him and his smile turned slightly abashed, his cheeks beneath his beard now rosy. I hadn’t even known he’d mentioned me at all, so this was certainly a surprise.

“Please,” she said, stepping back and gesturing for us to enter, “come in, both of you. Dorcas will bring your things up to your room. Dorcas? Falk is here.”

“I see that he is, my lady,” said an older Nord woman, wiping her hands absently on her apron as she came down the stairs. “And is the young gentleman staying, too? Where shall I put him?”

“With me,” said Falk, his arm around me squeezing. “This is Laurie.”

“Oh, goodness me!” she said, laughing. “The famous Laurie. I suppose it’s about time.”

Elisif ducked her head and appeared to be hiding a smile. I looked at my lover, who was now definitively red.

“…Famous?” I whispered, as we began to follow Elisif further into the house.

“Never mind the wagging tongues of servants,” he muttered, and in front of us I swear I could hear Elisif snort.

She led us to a lovely little sitting room that looked out towards the back of the house. It was shadowed now by the setting sun, but Falk assured me it was normally a lovely prospect, and that the wild falls of the Karth were within walking distance. He promised to take me to them, if I liked, perhaps in the morning, if we could make ourselves rise early enough. I readily agreed, for the thought of leaving with him to view the river together—just the two of us—was naturally very appealing.

Elisif was quite possibly the most elegant person I had ever met. She was polite yet always managed to seem interested in the answers I tried to give to her questions. As usual, Falk spoke up for me when I couldn’t quite find the words myself, though I was beginning to suspect she already knew a great deal about me.

“And you intend to settle in Solitude?” she asked, flicking a smile and a glance towards Falk.

“…Yes,” I said, and when I looked at him as well, he blushed and cleared his throat.

“I’ve asked Laurie to marry me,” he said. “And, for reasons unbeknownst to me, he has accepted.”

Elisif’s reaction was to half-spit up the tea she had just sipped from her teacup, her surprise giving way to a sudden coughing fit. Falk naturally sprang to his feet and hurried towards her, patting her on the back and calling for a servant to bring some water.

“No!” she said, holding up her hand, for it probably only aggravated the coughing. “I’m fine, really. But—Falk Firebeard, you owe me an explanation! You never told me things were so serious!”

At first I mistook her outrage to be genuine—possibly because my lover was now looking _very_ red in the face, and as chastened as a dog who’d been chased out of the hen house. But then when she looked at me, her eyes bright (and still a bit watery from coughing), I realized her feelings on the matter were quite the opposite.

“I… suppose I should have,” said Falk, sitting back down beside me. His hand found mine and squeezed. “Though it’s quite possible I didn’t realize it myself until it was upon me.”

“That is _just_ like you,” said Elisif, still patting her chest and laughing gently. “What was it Soren used to say? That you are least likely to see a thing when it is standing right before you.”

“Soren says a _lot_ of very silly things,” he muttered, and she laughed again.

“He bullies you! But most of the time you deserve it. He is the perfect steward—just as you were for me. As you were for Torygg.”

Silence fell between them then—I still hadn’t said a word since her initial question. A young man in a servant’s uniform poked his head in to ask if everything were all right, but she waved him away, though not before asking him when dinner was to be ready.

“Not long, I should think, my lady,” came the reply. “A few minutes at most.”

“Thank you, Nolan.”

“…Harrald isn’t here?” asked my lover, once the young man had left.

“He began his return trip to Riften a little over a week ago.”

“Ah. He went by way of a ship, I would imagine, east to Windhelm then down over land.”

“Yes, the journey is perilously long otherwise.” She paused, fiddling with the now empty teacup in her hands. “I should tell you… he asked me to go with him.”

Silence fell between them again, then:

“I can’t say I’m surprised to hear that,” said Falk, his voice careful.

“No, I suppose not…” She sighed. “Only… I don’t find myself wishing he would get over his feelings for me the way I used to.”

“I always said that it was a dangerous game you played, indulging him.”

“You did. And…” She paused, blinking, then looking at me. “And we’re both being _horrifically_ rude to poor Laurie!”

“No!” I said, shrinking back a little into the sofa. “No, I’m…!”

“…More than content to let the two of us talk and hope that we’ve forgotten you exist?” teased my lover. He smiled and released my hand, but only so he could slip his arm around my waist, pulling me closer against him. “None of that, now,” he murmured, kissing my ear and I’m sure making me blush far hotter than he had earlier.

“Oh, Falk…” said Elisif, laughing. “He’s adorable! You both are.” She beamed at us both. “I’ve never seen you this happy.”

“That’s because I’ve never _been_ this happy,” said my lover, and I jumped a little when I felt his fingers give my side a little tickle.

“Come along,” she said drolly, standing. “We should go to dinner before you two forget yourselves in my sitting room.”

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough. Naturally, Elisif wanted to know all about our engagement. She affectionately referred to Falk as a ‘hopeless, romantic fool’ when she learned how he had proposed to me. She asked if I weren’t nervous to become the husband of a jarl, and I had to admit that I was.

“Well, then, I shall offer you some advice,” she said. “No matter what happens: trust your husband. If you cannot rely on _him_ , then you cannot rely on anyone.”

I blinked, realizing.

“…Casien said the same thing,” I said, “Even before we were engaged …” I looked at my lover, who was now smiling curiously at me. “He said… that you would never make me do anything I didn’t wish to do…”

“I would never dream of doing so,” he said gently, his hand taking my own under the table.

“Casien…?” said Elisif.

“Yes, he and Laurie have become great friends. We’ve the moot to thank for throwing them together, I suppose.” He looked at me again, a smile tugging at his lips. “For throwing us all together.”

“I see…”

A thoughtful look came to her face, and though she didn’t quite smile, I had the distinct impression that she must have met Casien somehow, some way—and, though it seemed impossible, that she must have _liked_ him.

“There are few I have met in this world,” she began slowly, “whose wisdom can match that of Casien Yedlin’s.” She smiled and met my eyes. “I therefore suggest that you take his advice—especially as it appears to mirror my own.”

She and Falk both laughed, and I couldn’t help smiling a little as well. It was wonderful to see my lover so happy, so _relaxed_ —I had never seen him like this before, laughing, getting caught up in conversation, able to sit beside me for hours and chat as if nothing else in the world were bothering him. I could see that he truly loved Elisif, that she really was like a daughter to him. And I felt silly, in the best sort of way, for ever having feared that she wouldn’t like me.

It was an altogether lovely evening. We ended it by sharing a bottle of very fine liqueur in her sitting room, all three of us perhaps a little more tipsy than we had intended to become. But we laughed and the other two told stories about their youth while I listened. By the end of it, I had somehow found my way in my husband-to-be’s lap, and Elisif had left us both with a wink and a reminder that we had asked for Dorcas to wake us very early the next morning, so that we might walk down to the river together.

“I don’t suppose we could just sleep here,” my lover suggested, smiling up at me as he idly twirled a strand of my hair around his finger.

“We can if you like,” I said, stroking my own fingers through his hair. “But I’m not going to have sex with you in Elisif’s sitting room.”

His eyes widened comically then and he made to hastily sit up, his arms grasping me under my knees and around my back. Before I knew it, he had stood up, taking me with him! I laughed and slapped his chest and shoulder, ordering him to put me down, but of course he didn’t. By the time he made it upstairs and had dumped me onto the bed we had been assigned for the night, he had to collapse beside me with a sad little groan. I naturally had to tease him before offering to give him a massage, which he gladly accepted. And then I suppose it ended up being a very lovely evening indeed.

The river and the surrounding falls proved to be as beautiful as he had promised they would be, though I wasn’t sure it was worth getting up with the sun—something I hadn’t done since I was a child. My mothers had been allowing me to sleep in almost since I could remember. I suspected it had something to do with my condition, for my sleep was often restless, and they always had encouraged me to rest or even nap when I felt the inclination to do so. Of course, that didn’t excuse me from chores around the house and farm, but I never minded doing my part to help, even when I was very young.

The journey back home was uneventful—and resulted in double the soreness for myself, but this proved to be a hidden boon, as then it was _he_ who offered to give _me_ a massage the following night. The days afterward continued without incident, and, true to his word, Falk never once insisted that I take part in any of the political goings-on that took up the majority of his day. The moot was over, but the city and hold must still be governed, and that meant listening to complaints, passing judgment on new laws, hosting meetings with various important persons—the ways in which I might find him occupied throughout the day were endless. Yet I did my best to keep myself apart from it all, and he respected this about me.

In a way, I think we were both trying to figure one another out. This was not his first serious relationship, but Casien had once told me that each relationship was different, and in the end it didn’t truly matter how much experience you had. I could tell that my lover didn’t wish to push me too quickly. He never suggested that I give up my room, for example. When he asked if I’d thought about the wedding, and I admitted that I hadn’t, he dropped the subject entirely.

For my part… I simply learned to make myself available to him, every evening, without fail. By that I mean that I made sure he always had someone to talk to, whether it was to rejoice with him over something he had managed to accomplish or rage against those whose greed and selfishness prevented him from doing what must be done. He rarely asked me to attend dinners or events, but when he did, I accepted. When I could see that he was particularly stressed or unhappy, I did everything I could to please and relieve him. He continued to declare that he did not deserve me, and I liked to remind him that I was, after all, no gift or trick from the gods, as he’d first jokingly suggested. I was a free and independent person who had accepted him—and everything that came with him—with my whole heart.

I never did find the words to write to my mothers and tell them about this great and wonderful change my life had undergone. My writing in general seemed to go on as usual; I dutifully submitted my latest chapter to _The Red Rose_ the next Morndas and then again the following week. I even put the finishing touches on another story for Ullia and Betia. But the letter I had begun to my parents weeks ago still sat on my desk in my little room, unfinished, and seemingly likely to remain that way.

One cloudy, summer afternoon I was sitting under a large yew tree, one that dominated the center of a garden which was otherwise filled with greenery that had clearly been cultivated to appear more wild than domestic. It had become one of my favorite places to write, for it still afforded me a clear view of the palace yet wasn’t considered attractive enough to be much populated by local visiting thanes and dignitaries. I had fallen asleep under that yew more than a few times of late, and once Falk had even come to retrieve me there, for the sun had begun to go down, and he was anxious that I shouldn’t risk the cool air without a coat or cloak.

There was no danger of that happening today. I had gotten a full night’s rest—had actually _over_ slept, for when I’d awoken, my lover had already been gone. Last night he’d informed me that it was likely to be a busy day, so we probably wouldn’t see one another again until dinner. I didn’t mind, truly—I’d been making quite a bit of progress on the ending of Francis’s story and rather appreciated the abundance of free time I now had to work on it.

But my solitude wasn’t to be as guaranteed as I’d initially thought. For when I looked up from my work, I noticed three figures making their way towards me. One of them was instantly familiar. He was tall and wearing a fine breast coat that nearly matched the color of his dark red hair and beard. I smiled and set my work aside, slipping it back inside my leather satchel so that the wind wouldn’t get it, then moved to stand up, absently brushing the dirt from the seat of my pants.

I wondered what he could possibly want or need, for he seemed to be in no hurry and was actually laughing and talking with the two people beside him. From a distance, I could only tell that they were both women, one short, one nearly as tall as my lover. Their voices mingled with his, and as they drew nearer, the taller one looked in my direction and lifted her hand, waving. Her long hair caught in the wind, and beside her, the shorter one called out, joyfully, _Laurie!!_

I was running before my brain could even register the response. I could feel my heart jolting, pounding a staccato rhythm against my chest as I closed the distance between us, but I paid it no mind. The women smiled and both opened their arms to me; I opened my own, and together we embraced—both of them laughing, me crying.

“Oh, Laurie…!” said one of them—Arenya, the taller, always so gentle and patient with me.

She put her hands around my face, but I couldn’t seem to stop crying. She laughed and looked at the other woman—Louisa, my ex-soldier mother, who bolstered my confidence and always took pains to remind me that I would never, ever be alone, not so long as _she_ was still in this world. She laughed as well, and together they hugged me again, and teased me and kissed me and stroked my hair, and finally began to urge me to at least _try_ to calm myself. What would my handsome future husband think, seeing me like this?

I straightened upon hearing that and hastily wiped the back of my hands against my eyes. Of course, he was only standing there, watching us with a warm, bemused smile on his face, hands clasped behind his back.

“I see you didn’t receive our letter,” said one of my mothers, the taller one, her fingers now combing through my hair.

“…Your letter?” I looked at them both, surprised.

“Yes, we sent it… oh, a month ago at least!”

“Telling you we were planning on visiting. When we learned you were dating a _king_ , well.”

“We had to come and see if it were really true!”

“I _knew_ you wouldn’t believe me!” I said, and they both laughed.

Of course, they _had_ believed me; they had only been so shocked, so overwhelmed (in a good way, they promised) by the news that they had immediately begun planning on how they might come and see me—and thereby _meet_ this royal boyfriend I seemed so incredibly taken with. Naturally, they felt the need to relate in detail the description I had given of him, and I’m sure my lover’s beaming face as he looked at me, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes, only caused me to turn redder.

They had indeed sent me a letter informing me of their intentions, but as I had never received it, we determined that it must have gotten lost along the way. As for the farm, they said that many of the other villagers had agreed to take turns caring for it and all our animals. They’d told everyone in Alverton ‘my news,’ and now the entire village was as proud as could be, for one of their own was in love with a _king_.

“A jarl,” I corrected absently.

“Well, _you_ try and explain the difference to old Mathilda Leary! It was all I could do to make her understand that you were in some foreign land and not our own, and that Prince Rininion was _not_ to be cast aside in favor of our Laurie.”

“And Cyfina and Elis’ children all made you presents, for they didn’t want your king to reject you on account of your being only a poor farmers’ son.”

“…Oh gods,” I said, covering my still red face with both hands.

I thought my lover had finally taken pity on me when he slipped an arm around my waist, but no. Instead, he immediately declared that he should like to see these fine offerings, as it might very well influence whether he chose to continue with our engagement or not. Both my mothers naturally found this hilarious, and soon they were all three laughing again while I groaned and hid my face against my beloved’s warm shoulder.

Despite informing me last night that he would be quite busy today, he must have arranged to have his schedule cleared for the next several hours at least, for when he suggested that we head back inside, he continued to accompany us. He led the three of us up to the third floor and into a sort of sitting room that I had only seen him use when Soren’s sister and her family were visiting. It was attached to a dining room, and was all part of a suite of rooms meant to be used by the jarl and their family and any guests of note. Of course, it was normally just himself and Soren, so perhaps that was why he seemed so eager to play host to my parents.

My mothers, for their part, wanted to know everything. How was it, truly, that we had first met? I must tell them more about Jon and Karita, too, though when I explained how _Jon_ and I had first met, they were quite shocked—not to mention anxious that I _never_ walk the streets of Solitude at night alone _again_. They even extracted a solemn promise from Falk to make certain that I adhered to this decree. Of course, I couldn’t help letting slip that he was the one who had suggested I make the trip to that particular apothecary’s shop in the first place. It was quite delightful to see how quickly their goodwill towards him could alter—and the sight of them both berating him while he sat silently with his shoulders hunched slightly forward was not one I would soon forget.

They wanted to know about him, too. Who were his parents? What had he done with his life before he had become jarl? And, perhaps most importantly, what was it about me that had made him fall so deeply in love with me? (That last was naturally calculated to make the both of us turn as red as his hair—and then they must turn the question to me, as well.) Finally, they wanted to know all about how he had proposed—they assumed it must have been him, for they knew _I_ could never have worked up the nerve to do it.

(Which was perhaps true, but I didn’t see the point in having it pointed out to me.)

Of course, this meant he and I must backtrack and explain how he and so many others had been poisoned by a hired agent of some mysterious foreign entity—how this had made him question whether it was right to solidify my connection to him, if marrying him wasn’t endangering me more than he had a right to do.

“Not that I ever truly changed my mind about the matter,” he assured them. “I’ve been in love with Laurie for—well, almost since the day we met. If anything, what happened after the ball only made me realize that dawdling was pointless.”

“…How do you mean?” I asked, no doubt unable to keep the wonder from my eyes as I gazed at him, for this was the first time I’d heard him admit such a thing.

He frowned and seemed to find it difficult to put into words.

“Only that I have… I suppose, in my way, always been the sort to fear change, even when it might be a happy change. Change is disruption, and I’ve seen my fair share of tragedy and war and… failed relationships to know that I want no part of it.” He paused and sighed—he held my hand in his lap, and I could feel his fingers squeezing against my own reflexively. “But that was cowardice. For all my fear, all my feelings of inadequacy and hopelessness… You had changed my life utterly; I found I couldn’t live without you, now that I’d found you. And that if I didn’t for once learn to swallow my fear, I was going to lose you forever.”

I looked at him, amazed—flabbergasted, really.

“You were never in danger of losing me,” I said. I squeezed his hand back. “Never.”

“And when you thought the very worst of me—that I had decided not to marry you after all?”

I frowned, taken off guard by the question, though it was a fair one. I looked across at my parents, but they were silent, watching us both with curious interest.

“No,” I finally said, shaking my head. I met his eyes again. “I was angry. Hurt. But I could never have left you. Not really. Not unless I knew for certain that you didn’t really want me.”

“Of that you may never need fear,” came the earnest response.

I’m sure we would have kissed had we been alone. But, of course, we weren’t. Not that I imagine either of my mothers would’ve objected to our being physically affectionate with one another; in fact, they probably would have welcomed it. But I felt strange doing so in front of them, and I knew he did, too—I don’t doubt that he was trying as anxiously as possible to make a good impression on them.

My reluctance to kiss him notwithstanding, it was my _lack_ of shyness that they wished to speak of next. They hadn’t seen me in months, after all—and, apparently, I was much changed, in ways I hadn’t even realized.

“You haven’t stuttered once, you know. And you speak with such confidence!”

“And you look at me when you speak! I can finally see your beautiful gray eyes.”

“Oh, hush about his eyes, Arenya; you’ll embarrass him in front of his betrothed.”

“Alas, the consequences of excessively complimenting Laurie are well known to me,” said Falk, so I naturally must give him an obligatory smack on the shoulder.

He beamed and shifted to put his arm around me, and I leaned against him almost instinctively—and tried to ignore the way my mothers were staring at us with ‘hearts in their eyes,’ as Jon might have said.

“You _were_ very shy when we first met,” he teased, his voice warm and gentle. “I suppose it’s partially why I feared you didn’t care for me.”

“If you only _knew_ how much Jon and Karita teased me about you,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“They had the advantage of knowing you better and seeing you oftener than I did, true. But…” His smile turned thoughtful, his lips pressing slightly together. “I believe your mothers are right. You _have_ changed.”

Maybe they _were_ right—maybe I really had. I supposed I was much better at speaking to people in general, and by the end of the moot, I’d somehow found myself with more friends than I’d ever had in my entire life. I couldn’t help wondering who I had to thank for these changes, though I knew both he and my parents would say it was myself. But it was my parents who had pushed me to leave the warm comforts of home in the first place. It was my friends who had encouraged me to put myself out there—to submit my stories, to play in front of a roomful of people, to agree to work at the palace. And it was my lover who allowed me to move at my own pace, to come or stay as I pleased—so when I did finally walk into a room full of hundreds of people, it was with his support, yes, but it was on my own volition, my own determination.

He had to leave us then, though he promised to treat my mothers to dinner tonight. I spent the rest of the afternoon showing them around the palace. They were impressed by the library, charmed by the gardens, in awe over the gallery and the ballroom and the other fine places they saw. But it was my room that they liked the most, for they said (one with tears in her eyes, the other giving her a wry, knowing look) that it was a sign of my independence—my home away from home that I had created for myself, separate and distinct from themselves, but in the best possible way. They were so, _so_ proud of me, and I’m fairly certain that at some point we _all_ had tears in our eyes. Such is the way of mothers and sons, I suppose.

I was little surprised to learn that they couldn’t stay for more than a week. They needed to return to the farm; it wasn’t fair to ask the other families to tend to things in their absence for so long. I did my very best to fill my days with them, to eke out as much of one another’s company as we possibly could. I introduced them to Karita, naturally, and they met Soren, too. I was sad they couldn’t meet Jon and Olfina or Casien and Ulfric—though really, I think meeting one monarch was enough to tide them over for quite some time. I showed them the gardens and the best places to eat in the city. Falk took us all for a ride one morning, and we had lunch at the foot of an abandoned shrine that overlooked the sea. My mothers insisted on leaving a bundle of flowers and a few coins, for though whomever the shrine had been dedicated to was by now long lost to time, they said it would be foolish to disrespect even an unknown deity.

I was sadder than I would have anticipated when it came time to see them off. We had, of course, booked them passage on a very fine ship. They were to have their own room for the entire voyage, and feast on fine food and drink, too. They joked that it would be very strange to have to return to their cozy, little house and be forced to cook their own meals. But really, I could return to visit them whenever I wanted, weather permitting, so I had no reason to feel as gray and gloomy as I did about their leaving.

“Oh, sweetheart,” said one, smiling and reaching up to push a strand of hair behind my ear. “Of _course_ you can visit whenever you want. But I think we all know why you’re not quite ready to leave Solitude just yet.”

“The answer’s standing right beside you,” said my other mother, winking at me when I just looked at them, for I hadn’t quite been sure what they were referring to at first.

I startled a little when I felt my lover suddenly slide his arms around my waist and move to rest his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m starting to feel like I like him more than he likes me,” he said, sighing heavily.

I rolled my eyes then gave a startled little squeak when he began pressing ludicrously loud kisses against my neck. My mothers, predictably enough, laughed and laughed.

Strangely enough, I didn’t feel so sad anymore as he and I stood on the docks and waved as the ship began to pull away. We were both quiet as we rode back towards the palace, but it was a peaceful, companionable sort of silence. I smiled at the city folk who paused, pointed, and waved. I supposed people finally knew who I was. Even if they might not recognize me when I was alone, I had been seen publicly by his side enough by now—and he _had_ , after all, proposed to me in the middle of the street surrounded by a crowd of onlookers.

It was just us and Soren that night at dinner. I had a feeling now that most of my evenings would end in a similar fashion, and I couldn’t say that I was at all unhappy about it. Soren was, in so many words, like a brother to Falk, and under no circumstances was I ever going to make him feel unwelcome when the two of us were together. Really, I enjoyed listening to them talk about the perils of the day. And I think they both liked having an audience as they joked about the absurdities of some self-important thane or merchant one or both of them had had to deal with.

Of course, afterward it was just the two of us for the rest of the evening. He did a little more work at his desk, and I resumed work on the ending of Francis’s story. I knew he was done for the night when he came and sat down beside me on the sofa, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned his head against my shoulder, sighing.

“…Are you trying to tell me something?” I asked, smiling. It wasn’t particularly late, but he was obviously quite tired.

“Not at all,” he said, his eyes now closed. “Am I bothering you?”

“…You _never_ bother me,” I said, for it was true.

I set my work aside, and he sighed again and lay down with his head in my lap. I smiled and ran my fingers through his hair. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to be awake for much longer.

“Laurie,” he murmured. “Are you happy?”

He had asked me that twice before: once before he had told me he loved me, and once again before we first became intimate. My hand paused, and I felt something strange—a great lump in my throat, my heart fluttering happily in my chest.

“Yes,” I said, swallowing and blinking.

He opened his eyes again and looked up at me.

“I’m glad,” he said.

Why do we so often disregard that which would make us happy? We wander through life, mired in guilt and shame, convinced by outside forces that life is all about progress, success, and recognition. I suppose it was a bit strange to realize that I had actually quite figured things out by the age of twenty-five.

The following day, I began moving all of my belongings to his apartment. I lay my lute down beside what had become my favorite chair, slipped my manuscript inside the table on the side of the bed I had been sleeping on, and arranged my toothbrush, hairbrush, razor, and all the little soaps and creams I had purchased in Solitude since coming here. Lastly, I lay my old stuffed bear on the pillows in the center of the bed.

I reflected again on the fact that there were so few pillows there, and I thought there really ought to be more. I had seen such beautiful pillows and blankets in the city markets, made from so many rich fabrics and patterns.

I resolved to make my way into town today and buy some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!!!!!!!!!!! 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗
> 
> Thank you everyone who came on this journey with me!! I was initially very nervous about introducing a new original character into Casien's world, but you all have been so kind, warm, and receptive towards him; you made me believe it was possible!! I have loved _sooo_ much exploring Laurie's voice and point-of-view; he's quite a different storyteller than Casien! I'm also honored that you all have been so patient with me as I tried my hand at ROMANCE! 💕 It's been so fun, and I almost don't want to go back to Casien's whirlwind adventures!
> 
> Please, PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed the story! Whether you've been reading along during the updates or if you're just encountering this story long after it's been posted - I really appreciate knowing if you guys liked what you read! It helps build my confidence and lets me know that you want to keep seeing more stories like this!! I know commenting can be hard, but trust me, the simplest "I loved this!!" can go a really long way!!!
> 
> LAST BUT NOT LEAST: The Saga continues! Click the series link to continue on to Casien's Book 4: The Winter of Their Discontent! 👀

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Brief Respite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714332) by [themushroomqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themushroomqueen/pseuds/themushroomqueen)




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